If there was a way to live in these flowers, I absolutely and wholeheartedly would move in. I’d also feel closer to Dr Seuss.

Experienced Catto sought for top notch cuddles, perfect purrs and delightful company.

Excellent benefits will be bestowed upon the successful candidate - High quality food, catto massage, supreme bed linen, a supply of organic premium catnip, various toys, beautiful outdoor space, peaceful surroundings.

If you have the following qualifications please apply within.

Essential criteria:

• Must be a relaxed catto.
• Be friendly and affectionate to everyone.
• Be happy lounging on laps.
• Be happy having extensive tummy tickles.
• Enjoy being held like a baby.
• Love their ears being fondled, kissed and sniffed.
• Keep their bottoms clean.
• Like snuggles in bed.
• Wipe wet paws before getting into bed.
• Must toilet outside, away from flower beds.
• Enjoy a chat.
• Must not purr loudly all night on the pillow.
• Be willing to sleep in (no 5am wake up calls).
• Enjoy loud dance music.
• Not bring furry prey into the house.
• Never catch birds.
• Never spray in the house. Ever.

Desirable:

• Be willing to learn to dance with human companion.
• Be interested in going on long walks.
• Be willing to undertake some training.
• Prefer the candidate not to jump on doors.
• Prefer a catto who’s kind to all animals.

Mmmm lovely bird song. What you didn’t hear after I stopped recording was the monumental squawking from the many crows living nearby too.

There’s so much to explore here. I never knew how cycle friendly York was. There are cycle paths everywhere into the heart of the city. Through lush woods full of bird song. Over architecturally stimulating bridges. I love this place more and more.

Oh golly. I’ve always wanted to try one of these on 😃

Housesitting is a wonderful lifestyle choice. I love it in nearly all ways. The travel, the exploration, the discovery, the change, new houses, new design ideas, meeting new cats. Almost everything is positive and exciting. The area I struggle with most is the physical act of packing up all our stuff, putting said stuff in the car - a moderately sized car - making it fit, making things that could get squashed not get squashed and doing all this to a time scale.

I’ve realised I can get stressed with my companion during this period. For no other reason than that I feel under pressure. A pressure I give to myself. He’s a meticulous packer. He looks after his things. Everything always looks new. He’s thoughtful and considered and cares about his belongings. I’m more of a ‘push it in until no more will fit’ kind of gal. Sometimes I feel like ramming things, though I only think about ramming in my head. I’ve learnt from experience that one does not ram.

I don’t fully consider things like he does - ie - the consequences. I like to just get on and get going. I start off well and orderly, then finish off with a general stuffing technique. This can result in a squished box or a scuffed shoe. Sometimes I pack a few things, then he unpacks them because he’s found something that’s being squished and damaged. Even though I know he’s right and it’s the sensible thing to do, the idea of taking things out of the car when they’re already in there freaks me out. And I get annoyed. On the inside. It feels like we haven’t got time. Even though we have, usually.

So I want to make it easier. I want to be more organised. I want to have the right tools. So nothing gets squished and everything slots into place. I want to have such an incredibly organised car that people admire our packing tools and capabilities. Gone will be the shoes in plastic bags, randomly slotted in all over the car. Say hello to our new plastic shoe box all neat and tidy and in its place. Goodbye massive plastic bag full of heavy condiment bottles (how many soy sauces do I actually need? Definitely not four), hello lovely new plastic food box, easily stacked, slotting in nicely. This is the way forward. Boxes that slot. I’m truly excited. By the end of our York house-sit I will be The Box Queen. If only my 20 year old self could see me now. I used to be The Bag Lady in university so I’d say things were improving immensely.

Yesterday I saw a podiatrist called Holly. She made my feet feel happier. She removed hard skin that comes from my individual weight bearing style. She had a look at my athlete’s foot which is quite sore but slowly getting better through diet, friendly bacteria and listerine foot soaks. It’s been a bit hard to walk because my usually stronger foot is now the sorer of the two. I think it’s arisen because I’m cleansing and usually when you cleanse and eat more simply (ie without sugar everyday), old stuff comes up and needs to be expelled. So I’m slaying it and it’ll leave me soon and won’t be welcomed back.

I might call on Holly to do a biomechanical assessment of my gait and balance points. Maybe I’ll get some insoles. Maybe she’ll conclude that my feet are better off left to their own devices. It’s good to get opinions on my enigmatic legs (that’s what the orthopedic surgeon told me they were).

I told her about my own conclusion as to why I walk the way I do. That when I was a little one and in frog plaster, my brain and hips lost connectivity with each other because I had surgery and didn’t walk or weight bear on my legs for an extended period. Holly said this was right. When people have injuries or pain in certain areas, their brains drop connection and reroute into other areas so as not to feel pain anymore. Bodies are great at adapting. Therefore, my brain learnt that in order to walk, my back had to play more of a central role in the process and my hips lost their place (and their suppleness) in the sequence of how I stood and moved. They were so down the list I haven’t been able to feel them working up until recently.

That’s why bellydance is so good for me. It gets me engaging with my hips. It gets my brain saying ‘hello hippos’ down there. I feel it. I feel the progress. I feel my whole posture changing as a result of my hips getting more attention. Bellydance moves rock! And roll too. Rolling feels amazing. That’s when you engage the abdominal wall and make it do things you never even knew were possible.

Day 20 - I’m dancing once more after a few days transitioning between houses. When I dance again, a relief comes over me. My body feels thankful. I’m giving it attention. I’ve been static with no space to dance. Now I have a room with a view. There are trees and squirrels and jackdaws. And there’s me. At the centre. Listening to fat beats. Firing up my blood. Firing up my spirit. I admire my strength and determination to keep on dancing. To keep on finding out who I am and what I’m capable of.

Today in the dance, I also had a period of lying down and relaxing. My back felt ever so grateful for that. It’s so wonderful just to completely relax. On a firm floor. And let everything sink into the ground. It’s quite a magical moment. There’s a rise in peace I feel in my brain.

I couldn’t stay still for long though and started pumping my arms and legs in that horizontal position. I just couldn’t help myself. It’s useful to know I can dance, even when I’m lying down.

Twitchy tail marmalade catto enjoys belly rubs and has big warm squishy ears. He used to live under a school. He loves being outside. When he’s inside he’ll be lying next to his catnip rubbing mat. He’s not allowed in the bedrooms though sometimes he sneaks in for a nap.

Who’s a handsome boyo then? And more likely to let a gang of field mice snuggle into his soft silky fur than eat them for dinner. Georgie Orange Catto!

Grateful to have an English country garden on my doorstep. It’s lush, vivid, wild, wonderful, full of roses and yes, I drank magic rose water earlier on. The deep scarlet was the most aromatic.

My new favourite thing. Glass paperweights. Colours and bubbles. Wow.

Catto in an English country garden. Aw.

This is Georgie. He’s a HUGE ginger tom. He’s a gentle giant and very friendly. I’m looking forward to lots of cuddles with this purr maker. What a colour.

Ok. Had enough now. Two days without sniffing or snogging soft, furry catto ears is just far too long. Luckily I’ve got a new cat-sit tomorrow. Georgie, a gentle tom cat. I hope he’s into his ears being stroked otherwise we’re going to run into problems.

York. Simon’s birthday. Extra cheat day (woohoo). Totally loving this eclectic, ancient, vibrant city. Easy to navigate round. A river running through it. Nature. Green spaces. Happy tourists. Friendly locals. Cosmopolitan edge. Elegance. York, you rock!

I’ve started to notice when I scowl, grimace or frown. And I don’t like it. Even in moments of stress, I’d prefer to have a soft placid face rather than one with harsh lines and a grumpy expression. It’s something to think about. I’m human with a multitude of expressions but what expressions do I want to put out into the world? What can I possibly have to frown about in my beautiful rich life? I don’t need to frown. I don’t need to scowl. I’m doing it over the smallest things. It’s not healthy or productive. It’s just a habit that can be fixed. One from childhood probably, to get my own way or make the world pay attention to me. It’s time for my face to become vibrant and full of positive expressions. Whatever I see and whatever’s going on at the time.

Dear little Cookie. Fingers crossed for a positive and swift recovery for you sweet one. You really deserve peace. I’ll keep you updated on her progress.

Action catto. Spiralling, splatting, swishing the rainbow feather of doom.

Baby Buzzface (how big is his head?!). Won’t see him till next year 😩 We had a one night stand last night. My last night with him. He slept in my bed. He’s the most snugglypuffin catto I’ve ever met. He’s got a lush long exhale that says ‘I am so comfy with you right now’. Aww.

Last night with this gorgeous boyo. Not sure when I’ll see him again. I’m breathing in his yummy furry smell and feeling grateful I’ve spent time with him this week. Buzz. You’re the best. You’re so silky and gentle. Wanna sleep in my bed tonight? hee hee : )

An elegant, bright feast for the eyes (and other senses, if you partake in a cocktail).

Cheat day. The Ivy style. Tunbridge Wells. Bring on the pancakes. Nom.

I took dear little Cookie to the vet today. There’s something wrong and so far we don’t know what it is. She’s old and frail. I’m trying not to be worried. Going to the vet today brought up some memories. I was 14 when my cat best friend Amy was put to sleep. We had five pets and she was the first to go. She was only 8. I was mortified. I remember coming home alone that day and balling my eyes out on the floor like a toddler. The other dogs and cats gathered round me concerned. But no-one could replace my Amy. It was so unfair. She should have had another ten years left in her. That was the first time I’d ever experienced loss in such a profound way. One minute there. The next, those blue eyes were no longer.

I developed some interesting OCD habits to cope with her not being there. I imagined, in fact, she was everywhere. I would leave drawers and doors slightly ajar so she’d be able to get out of them easily. They definitely could not be closed. I’d say my prayers at night and always ask that Amy was protected. Still to this day, if I see a dead animal by the side of the road, I kiss my hand and send their spirit up to Amy and all the other pets I’ve loved and lost. By now there must be a whole gang of them, wild and tame, getting along just fine. At least a thousand I’m thinking. I’ve been saying this prayer for a looong time. I see them gamboling across a grassy plain and grazing in fields full of flowers. Everyone’s happy. Everyone’s snuggling. And they’re always there to welcome in a new fallen comrade.

I hope one day I meet them too. Especially Amy. I would give her such a big cuddle and tell her I love her.

Been tripping out on these little beauties. Reflected light on shiny glass balls (full of bubbles) rocks!