Felines are fabulous!

captivating cat

I found these soulful eyes on this website . There are some other fabulous felines featured there.

What is it about cats? Some people love them, others can't stand them. Occasionally I have people in my house who, on seeing my cats, react with horror almost as if they had seen a gargoyle come to life and it was hell-bent on draining the life and soul out of them. Actually, that's pretty much how some people do think of them! Or it might be something to do with the superstition that it has some sort of connection with the spirit world (Chinese belief, I think). Must do a bit of research on that.

I grew up with both a dog and a cat, and surprisingly they absolutely adored each other, often curling up in a little embrace to sleep. The dachsund sort of wound herself around my little black and white cat and a loud purring emanated from the furry bundle. Her name was Whisky, so named because I brought her home in a Black & White Whisky box. I begged to be allowed to keep her and so began our long association with the feline. I don't know what happened to Whisky when we packed our bags and left our home in Uganda. Most probably one of the Africans would have taken care of her or she probably could have fended for herself.

As a reminder of our East African days, our first cat in Australia was named Paka, swahili for 'cat'. How original! The first cat I had in Singapore was also a streetwise tabby, and I just called him Mao, Chinese for 'cat'. Another stroke of originality! He ran off when we moved house, obviously miffed at the idea of living in a flat instead of on the ground floor. All the other cats we've had since then have been more sensible - and all have come to us by accident rather than by design.

Cromerty, named after a witch in a picturebook who turns herself into a cat, fancied herself as the Queen of All She Surveyed. A picky eater (aren't they all?), but a loyal companion. Her favourite perch was on top of my computer monitor or on the topmost piece of furniture she could conspire to jump on to. She loved playing pool (I have the picture to prove it!) but mostly she perfected the art of doing absolutely nothing while looking absolutely gorgeous.

When Lucky the jumpy Burmese/Siamese joined the household, Cromerty was most put out and they kept a wary distance from each other. It was quite harmonious until Nikki came along. She was supposed to be a temporary boarder while other owners were found, but somehow she stayed and proceeded to make poor Cromerty's life a misery. Despite her old age, Cromerty was still pretty nimble and Nikki rarely succeeded in catching her when they played chase.

After a good 14 years, Cromerty died and so three became two. And a very uneasy alliance that is with Lucky assuming the dominant role and hissing and carrying on when Nikki tries to get too close. Lucky tends to stay indoors and hides on the edge of the balcony on the other side of a towel hoping nobody will see her and put her out. She hates thunderstorms and begs to be let into one of the rooms that has a really dark cupboard where she likes to go and wait till all the clashes and flashes are over.

Nikki is the opposite and comes in mostly only to eat and then sits by the front door willing it to open so she can go out and catch birds and lizards. That's despite her wearing a bell with a collar, so I can only assume she operates by stealth to catch her prey. She has an odd habit of sitting in a big puddle of water after a rain storm - I thought cats hated the water! So far, though, she has not jumped in the pool when I have a swim, but she does sit right on the edge at one end while I do my few laps. Perhaps she is a cat pretending to be a tiger - she is ginger, after all.

Now that both my kids are off doing a period of overseas voluntary service, my conversations tend to be directed towards my cats. They do talk back, but I don't have to bother about curfews or preparing elaborate meals!

My new picture

Orange Tree

I absolutely love this picture! I bought it at the weekend at an auction and it was a steal. It's painted by a friend of mine - he's actually a very good abstract artist, but he did this representational piece for a special project, I think.

The two gold lines at the sides of the painting are gold paint and the painting is framed in gold with a black background. It's quite small - too big to be a miniature, but it gives that impression.

It has a special significance actually because it is not just any old orange tree, but one that was planted in a courtyard in a house in Shiraz, Persia. The house belonged to a young man called Siyyid 'Ali-Muhammad, who called himself the Bab or 'gate'. This title indicated that he was destined to announce to the world the coming of a universally awaited 'Promised One' of all ages, Who would bring in an era of peace and justice.

This news attracted a number of followers and soon the authorities and the ecclesiastics were feeling rattled by the support this young merchant had attracted. Historians recount in gory detail the excessive tortures and indignities that the Bab's followers were subjected to. Thousands were massacred for their Faith.

Eventually, the Bab Himself, after a series of exiles to remote places in Iran (in a futile attempt to quell the support He had among the populace) was executed. The circumstances surrounding His execution are themselves quite remarkable, as is the story of how his devoted followers kept his mortal remains well protected and hidden from those who tried to stamp out his influence forever. The same attitude by the authorities led to their destroying the house the Bab lived in while in Shiraz, and eventually another building was put in its place, ironically called "Bayt-al-Mahdi" or "The House of the Mahdi (Promised One)".

The Bab's remains now rest in Haifa, Israel inside a Shrine which is now a place of pilgrimage by Baha'is (followers of Baha'u'llah - that Promised One the Bab had prepared the way for) all over the world. It is also a major tourist attraction in Haifa. There's a picture and a short history here .

Some people preserved the seeds of the oranges of the tree, and there are now two small orange trees grown from them on the terrace immediately leading to the Shrine.

It's a kind of mark of resilience, of survival against the odds - like the Faith that still struggles to be recognised in the country of its origin.

Crazy about all things Japanese

Grass for his Pillow 

This is the second in the Tales of the Otori trilogy about feuding clans in a Japan-like country in a mythical medieval time. Critics have called it spellbinding, masterful and remarkable and I would have to agree. Perhaps it is the gripping storyline, or maybe the perfectly captured imagery of nature, or more likely both. There are at least four versions of the cover that I know of, but this is the most evocative and the prettiest!

For a while, there was great excitement in the publishing world because the writer has used a pseudonym. Once it was clear that the first book (Across the Nightingale Floor)had been universally acclaimed, the author revealed her identity, although many by then had guessed who it was. It was known that she was Australian, and that she had extensive knowledge of Japanese culture. The only person fitting that description was Gillian Rubinstein, a well-known and very well-respected writer of children's fiction. She had spent many years in Japan and used part of her own name in the pseudonym - Lian - and part of the name of a famous commentator on Japanese history - Hearn. Be that as it may, the critics had given their seal of approval and Rubinstein had ensured that she now has a foothold in the growing young-adult crossover market.

All this has got me reflecting on how much I appreciate many aspects of Japanese culture, and to wondering why that might be the case. I remember once my mother dressed me up in a crepe paper kimono for a fancy dress costume competition on board ship (part of the usual activities on our biennial trips back to the UK from Africa before airline travel became more usual - and doesn't that date me!). The black and white photo actually shows I have quite a resemblance to a little geisha! Could my interest have dated back that far?

Though I have never been there, I can imagine staying in an elegantly built inn somewhere up in the mountains where the clouds caress the tops of the cypress trees, and a crystal clear stream trickles nearby. In the approach to the front of the inn, stone lanterns light the way alongside the bamboo lined path, and inside someone slides the door open to reveal a warmly lit room covered in tatami mats. Before retiring for the night, a light meal of miso soup, a few slices of sashimi and some sushi, a small plate of green soba noodles with a tofu salad and a steaming hot cup of green tea. All is quiet outside save for the rustling of the breeze in the bamboo under the moonlit sky. Sleep is deep and undisturbed.

How wonderful if such a place existed!

Certain aspects of Japanese culture are still understated, elegant and refined - the spare designs of ikebana, the richness of the laquerware, the intricately woven kimono and obi, the clever origami, the eloquently concise haiku, the peaceful zen gardens, the art of bonsai, the beauty of a finely wrought samurai sword, the pottery that English potter Bernard Leach (more about him in a later post) so admired, the exquisite cherry blossoms. So many things to admire!

I bought a book once called Blue and White Japan that made me want to instantly replace my beds with futons, remove all my clutter, and strategically position some swatches of indigo-dyed material over the furnishings and purchase a delicate bone china teaset. Even imagining how it could be can send me into transports of delight!

My son, meanwhile, has developed an interest in anime movies and comics, and I know otherwise sane individuals who love manga. Hello Kitty culture was popular to such an extreme degree here a couple of years ago and people were queuing up by the hundreds to get their free Hello Kitty couples from Macdonalds. The Japanese cult of the cute and cuddly is a mystery to me when so much in their culture is so elegant. It's a bit like the difference between Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe - worlds apart, but both have their fans.

Needless to say, my feet are firmly in the camp of Audrey Hepburn.

Revolutionary science

Discovery of the Germ

Reading this makes me glad to have been born in a time when doctors routinely scrub up before an operation! Time was they went from one patient (or corpse) to another with no more than a quick wipe of the scalpel on their surgical aprons!

I learned some time ago that the reason why so many women died of puerperal fevel after childbirth was precisely because doctors refused to wash their hands following autopsies and prior to delivering a baby.

Years earlier I remember seeing a series of photographs of the progress of infection of a mere scratch on the ankle of an unfortunate man who either could not get, or refused, treatment. The scratch developed into a nasty wound, the infection spread into his leg and eventually gangrene set in and his leg had to be amputated below the knee. What still puzzles me is how the photographer was able to get the shots and yet the man's foot could not be saved.

Nowadays a simple tetanus shot could have prevented that, and even simply cleaning a wound and protecting it from dirt can help avoid complications.

How we take for granted such simple precautionary measures as isolating infectious patients, the need for vaccinations, basic hygiene in hospitals and food preparation, and proper sanitation.

As Waller says, "only the term 'revolutionary' can convey a proper sense of the magnitude of the change that medical practice has undergone." The rapidity of the identification of various causes of infectious disease was almost overwhelming - medical students found their text books out of date, but more importantly the causes of scarlet fever, tetanus, typhoid fever, pneumonia, anthrax, cholera, tuberculosis, leprosy, diphtheria, gangrene and gonorrhoea were found in the space of just a few decades.

If only science as encountered at school had been as palatable as Waller makes it, I might have been persuaded to study it for longer.