Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: South Wales, UK
The Third Epistle of Sheba
The Third Epistle of Sheba
It has taken me a while to feel ready to write this letter but I have decided to do it before I tell you all about the wonders of Christmas.
Quite a few weeks ago now, tragedy struck the Queendom. The Great Mother died very suddenly. The servants were distraught, our enormously bouncy dog was subdued and depressed and amongst all the cats, Baz (the idiot giant) was especially bereft.
From information I have gathered, there would have been a welcome committee waiting for her in paradise – headed by the mother of the servants who apparently kept her on a pedestal - I’m not entirely sure why she chose such a strange place to keep a cat. It does, however, seem to have involved large quantities of chicken being used to tempt the Great Mother (who was young at the time) into permitting contact with humans so it can’t be an entirely bad thing.
There would also have been her older brother (the famous dog trainer) who also worked very hard to tempt her in when it was her turn to be thrown out (he and a lot of the family had been abandoned even sooner) and her best friend Trixie who remained a gymnast until she died at well over 20 years of age. It seems there is also the fore-runner of our dog, a canine called Lady, who had the good taste to idolise all cats. Last, but certainly not least, was Oz – the only one of her “babies” to have headed to Paradise before her. She was so grief-stricken while he was ill that the servants believed they were going to lose her too at that point. He has probably been soggy from constant washing from within minutes of her arrival. Perhaps by now she’s letting him dry out.
While we all miss her, I console myself with the thought that Paradise must contain an infinite number of ears and bottoms for her to check should her usual urge come upon her. There are probably also a lot of young cats rejected by their own mothers – she’ll take them all.
As expected, Jemima has taken over the Queendom and with it first rights to the utility room, the right hand arm of the sofa and the second shelf of the unit in the living room. I have been put in charge of all things maternal. I am likely to end up with a severe case of tongue exhaustion. Baz is at least twice my size (and has approximately 1% of my intelligence) and loves being washed. I even wash the dog – the downside being her reciprocating with a tongue that is roughly six yards long. Washing the twins is the most difficult as they don’t stop moving. With the other sensible female residents, it only involves a spot of mild, mutual grooming. Inevitably, I am always perfectly clean and so is my son.
The memory of the Great Mother will be handed on to new generations and I’m sure she will be prepared to adopt them all when it is their turn to meet her – by then she will probably believe she gave birth to all of them, as she believed about all of us (except Lottie) in the heavenly version of the utility room.