Sunday 24 February 2019

Battles and Breakthroughs

WONKA THAT SOUNDS VER VER SERIOUS!!!Folks, you know me I NEVER that is JAMAIS give up!! and even when those meltdown's of Owner run into each other - DO I Hang my head in my paws and despair???? NO I DO NOT - instead folks I do things like say:
1.  Owner you cannot take on the entire world and put it right so make a nice cup of builders and give me a cuddle. (tick -this works a treat.X)
2. Have a session with dat newbie Squeak it will make you laugh and smile (me jealous?  not a bit of it. slightly then. a tad..X)
3.And this one folks never fails I roll it out all the time:  TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY. (giant Tick.X)

 
There she is, the KitKat sat on the Owl box!!  We have three of them for Owner's bits and bobs alright important papers.  X
 
 
So last week folks took a bazooka downwards, with no work (those lucky students eh X) and a lot of tooing and froing with the aged who got suddenly ejected from hospital back to the nursing home which is where Owner had a Big Meltdown.  Nothing, DE RIEN was right folks and Owner span into full whirling Dervish mode, flinging stuff out of drawers (THAT'S NOT YOURS), pointing at aged's vest and shrieking THAT'S NOT YOURS - and YOU ARE PAYING FOR THIS!  Luckily Owner had thought on and closed the door but I said I bet there were at least four or five carers pressed up against it listening to Owner shout at herself for a good ten mins. That Folks is Nursing Home life and it doesn't get any better either.  I did reassure Owner that when she gets a bit past it and tottery and that I will do my utmost to care for her as she deserves!! In the meantime, the Aged's best teddy which was strangely chucked on top of the wardrobe, is here to cheer us all up about being old.XX
 

 
There he is Mum's Ted!  XX
 
What else folks has been spinning this old world round?  In the continuing soap story that is our pollytics, a load of Labourites and three toryites left their parties to form a GROUP.  so far in and at the time of my paw hitting these keys they are still a Group and called Indy Group.  Owner liked the name Centrists but someone on twitter said this was meaningless.  I know.  Other people are rumoured to be leaving and all are worried well jezzer is up on the allotment mostly so might be more worried about the lack of rain and Tresa Grey is in the desert strangely her choice of venue to meet up with some EEWE mates and make more meaningless statements.  yes in fact If we need something meaningless surely this is Brexit and not the new Centrist party group thingie.XX
 
Has anything cheered Owner up on the telly?  Corrie has certainly made Owner relax for at least ten mins at a time with Carling black or brown eyebrows covering up for arsonist Roy but then the super sleuth that he is, accused her of doing all of it because she is still in lerve with Peetah and wanted Abi to take the rap!!Sally's mad sister has lost all the party money and been thrown out of her temporary lodgings with Kirky and thingy and has been taken in by soft hearted Sofeee.  in Enders, it was a wonder Owner kept up with the plot as there are lots of newbie characters in town so it was a relief to see KAF knocking on hard faced thingie's door with a stew (I know X) and Shazzer appearing briefly too.. The greatest dancer ended with a vote in the wrong direction as we loved James and Oliver and the voting public disagreed (why?) and in Casualbum Ian is contemplating throwing a bottle of tablets down his neck. NOT A HAPPY ENDING for a Satdee night droned Owner searching restlessly for a comedy film.  We had to make do with a repeat of Would I lie to You and Owner knew all the answers. I mean.X
 
All this sunny weather folks is taking the edge of such relentless times folks AND showing up all the dust on the little sitting room telly.  where there is dust there must be sunshine!!  Next week really is half term here so those pesky students can all take a break from the likes of Owner and she can enjoy the gym and her new class that she is booked into (body balance.  I know.X) meanwhile, I can report that the cat visiting we call Little Princess has still not had her kits and is still popping here morning and aft; Ruggles is still up top in the bathroom and only lifts his head up to see if Owner bringing another snack and me and dat Squeaka are best buddies.  Who WHO would have thought it folks? eh Eh? EH?
 
On that happy note, go forward into the glory sunnyshine with your fur fluffed up and those whiskers a tingling!! Big Love Wonka XX


Saturday 16 February 2019

More Conversations with Wonka X

Howdy up my fellow followers of this old bloggy and today I am popping on the next in the series of #conversationswithwonka which is this one!!!

Do enjoy it folks and cheer up your weekends!!

 
More Wonka  - Tales from the back door
 
Published by Madeleine Masterson at Smashwords
 
Copyright 2013 Madeleine Masterson

Wonka is demanding to know why I have arrived home with my face all screwed up with tension.  ‘is it work?’ he shrills, skipping ahead of me and meeting Golly by the radiator (I must try to remember and turn the heating off I think, now it is past the summer solstice). ‘Well – ‘
 
‘Because if it is I don’t want to hear it!’ he continues knocking all his biscuit boxes down and scraping his head on the cat food pouches lined up like a row of soldiers.  They fall down too.
 
Of course it’s work.  I had two appointments today, one with a strapping big farmer feeling fairly ghastly due to family stuff.  The second, and it was this one that was still hanging around me, with this chap hovering on the autistic spectrum.  I had heartily resisted throughout our one to one, the appeal of his world.  After all, inside his world, no one but him, was right.  No one but him understood or came close.  And he listened to himself and all was fine.  Despite my resistance I felt terribly caught up in this loop.  Or was it loopy.
 
‘Come on!’ shouted Wonka ‘me and Golly are famished!’  I felt like a slow bovine creature unable to make simple decisions like chicken or beef flavoured morsels.  I stabbed at the button on my CD/radio.  Complete silence instead of endless whittering might help me.   That, or reading the side of the goat’s milk carton which has jolly write ups and photos of typical (I’m using that word now instead of normal) people enjoying said milk.

 
The autistic chap haunted me though.  Even his face I decided was other worldly, it was bony, sunken even, with blotches and staring eyes. 
 
 Actually it wasn’t too far removed from the gallery of blokes all looking for a soul mate on the dating site I used.  Regular ‘new matches’ would arrive to taunt me.  Wonka had commented on this of course, telling me that I was Ok as I was.   What? I countered, struggling along on my own – not just the bags of shopping and having to carry them for miles from the parked car, down the other street because I couldn’t get parked in my own.  No, it was the overall struggle.   ‘Surely there is someone out there for me?’
‘Me and Golly!’ – ‘and Baba!’  yes indeed.  Baba was the someone out there, he was doing his usual piteous squeak at the back door.  Perhaps a stray, who knows, he was allowed access to some food and drink.  Possibly some of Wonka’s biscuits.  Anyhow Wonka enjoyed boxing him into a corner where I would find him hours later having forgotten I’d let him in.   Golly, benign and loving cat that he was, tolerated Baba and not just because he couldn’t see him.  Being blind had nothing to do with his temperament.  Golly oozed love and peace.  Wonka had attitude.
 
Wonka had a few things to say about companions and the like.  Watching me get ready for a meeting up with one of the gallery he would advise on clothing, driving, walking or taxi and finally whether to tape a favourite programme.
On my return, usually disillusioned, feeling ugly and old he immediately restored my spirits.  ‘I never liked the name Malcolm!’ he trilled, and ‘try and stay local next time!’  He’s got a point.  On the long drive back I had to endure some organ music as this seemed to be what people like to listen to after 7pm on my music station.  They don’t refer to the other listener for nothing
The latest line up is equally unappealing and I keep getting viewed by someone in Slovenia.  I daren’t tell Wonka about this, as I can’t promise for his political sensibilities.  He often veers towards conservative views only to veer back to a liberal stance.  Golly I think, is with Greenpeace.

 
Talking myself in and out of these tenuous relationships, I can rely on Wonka to counsel if not life coach me into action.  ‘Go on! Take a risk!’ he urges, while I spend too much time ruminating on whether to or not.  ‘He looks suspect!’ as I press the send button for my message.  Well at least I’m making an effort.  I close the laptop down and crank myself up off the floor.  To my left, on the settee, is Golly slumbering away by the cushion with Wonka snoozing, angel like on the top.
 
Lined up by the cushion are three of Wonka’s toys.  A knitted duck, a hand made fur cat and a proper cat toy, which is a penguin.  All about the same size and to my knowledge, Wonka has never bothered with any of them.  Well maybe the cat.  There is just room for me at the other end of the settee. 
 
Perched on it, I enjoy the rest of my evening in a pleasant daze and not a relationship in sight.  ‘there’s always tomorrow!’ says Wonka, commencing his night time patrol.  Hmm, that’s what Scarlett said.
 
Looking at yourself first thing is fraught with danger. My face was bony, sunken even, with blotches and staring eyes.  Now where had I had seen this kind of look before?  Luckily, and with thanks to Wonka and his sort of don’t dwell on it get on with it and count your lucky stars on it philosophy, I did not need to analyse my look, or indeed my life and the careful thinking behind it.  Instead and with one hundred percent approval from Wonka, I needed to go on a healthy eating regime.  This alone would sort out my attraction factor.  And I mean the attraction to myself never mind the gallery.
 
Being a rather impatient let’s get it on type (see, I do use that word!) the regime had to start immediately.  Out with the ginger nuts and in with the thin weird tasting rye wafers cum biscuits cum just weird tasting things.  Also in, was the swimming.  If I couldn’t actually get to the baths I was thinking about it, and in my regime, this counted as healthy exercise.  Rifling through the pamphlet which read like a train timetable or worse, that of a pending bus, was also good exercise.  Of the mind.

Two weeks in with this new regime and I haven’t noticed even a tiny bit of loose clothing.  Some days I just feel outright fat. ‘You! Fat!’ my dear work colleagues say when I draw attention to my size.  Wonka however knows different.  ‘have you weighed yourself yet?’ and ‘those sweets are missing from the fruit bowl!’  
 
In a frenzy of thin rye biscuits I need something to take away the sort of earthy dried up taste and only one of my humbugs was going to do it.  As a side effect though, I was brushing my teeth more.  Let’s not go there.
 
Wonka keeps fairly fit by darting from one window to another and this includes the half glass on the back door.  He can peer through this, and round the blind and curtain shielding me from the world out there and the neighbours opposite.  If there is another cat out there in the yard and thanks to my St Francis attitude, there is always a cat out there in the yard, then he races upstairs to look at them from my bedroom window.  At night, once I start my settling down thing, he is often a fat huddled shape behind the heavy curtain swathed across my bedroom window.  He is perched on a sill roughly an inch wide.  Trapeze artist, new philosopher in the making, he has it all.  If only I could step up a notch, and tackle life with this devil may care attitude.
 
My face throughout the regime, seems the same.  The blotches have moved right enough, and in certain lights, my face seems fat rather than bony. 
I have recently messaged a gallery member who lives locally, just like Wonka suggested.  Also, and following his tip for losing weight, I have weighed myself.  It was up at the baths where in the reception is one of those massive machines that can’t ever be wrong.  Also, it declares your weight to the massive queue of waiting swimmers.  It was alright though, as on Sundays there is a gap between family bathing and family bathing and it is lane swimming.
 
I had come upon the lane swimming after one of my incidents in with the family bathing.  Suffice to say, I now needed to avoid some of the family bathers.  Wonka agreed with this tactic, and thought that lane swimming would be demanding in a different way.  He was right.  At first I tried the middle lane thinking that here would be the kind of swimmers who had a bit of practice under their belt and were fairly speedy.  No.  Here were the swimmers who were too fast for lane one, the ‘slow’ lane.  Again I seemed to mark myself out somehow by carving a middle lane through the dawdling swimmers in this lane.  There was one option left to take and that was to move into the ‘fast’ and third lane.  Now as I swam up and down in the middle lane I had of course checked this out.  It seemed to me to be full of olympic style swimmers complete with goggles and sports swimwear.  Also, they did fancy stuff like shooting up the bath with a flipper like action and a float held in front.
 
‘Hold your own!’ shouted Wonka as I departed for my Sunday swim and said weigh in.  ‘How’s life in the fast lane?’  he pestered on my return.  I whispered how much I weighed and that somehow I had kept some sort of pace up against the relentless backstroke and crawl of these olympian swimmers.
I felt exhausted, fat, old and ugly.
 
Slumped on the settee later on and sipping a glass of red purely for its anti- oxidant brain stimulating effect, I vowed to keep going.
 That spark of motivation would drive me on and I envisaged the trimmer, fitter more even skin toned me.  

‘Me and Golly are starving!’ shouted Wonka from his perch on the sideboard.  A bigger, sleeker and well fed cat would have been hard to find in our street or the one where I had to park the car.   Shaking out a handful of biscuits into Wonka’s trough I thought it looked like rain.  Wonka sniffed the contents and jumped up onto the side to inspect the yard.  Sure enough, specks of rain appeared on the window and me and Wonka turned our attention to the bottom of the back door.  It was a tiny kitchen and the back door opened onto the first bit where the washer was and where the small surface I prepared all my meals was.  More than one person in the kitchen was fine if you were having an affair with them, married to them or wanted to be.  Even me and Wonka was a crowd.  When Golly tiptoed by I looked like an exotic dancer, moving in strange ways to avoid him.
 
But yes, the back door.  Try as it might, it could not hold the rain back anymore, so when it rained outside, it rained in the kitchen too.
 
The Back Door: it had suffered, been through it really, been healed and patched up but the scars were still there.  Struck at with a fireman’s axe had rather changed the hang of it.  Prior to this it had been a good sturdy door, opening and shutting without any trouble.  Indeed it was through this very good door that Wonka had sped in and stayed in
.
Through the same door trotted Baba occasionally (and straight back out) and then Golly in his twilight zone also popping out and down the three steps into the yard.  All was well until I had one of my stressful days where clients, colleagues, passing strangers and the world were lined up.  The awful realisation that my keys were on the inside of the door and not available to me on the outside led to a series of ridiculous decisions.  Wonka gazed at me with a startled expression from the comfort of the sideboard.
 
‘We’re starving, me and Golly!’  he mouthed through the back window.  ‘I’ve locked myself out’ I whispered back at him.  Saying it made it true.  Calling the fire brigade was the option suggested by a friendly neighbour and seized upon as the right thing to do.   Why it took three burly firemen to hack into the good back door and reunite me with Wonka and Golly it matters not.  I had arrived home.  Yes, I no longer had a good back door that locked or held the world at bay and would cost a fortune to fix and ruin my hitherto good relationship with the landlord, and No, I was no longer in the yard with stress levels a mile high.
 
‘Locksmith?’ questioned Wonka, once he had settled and Golly had come out from under the bed. ‘Well I – ‘
‘it’ll cost a fortune!’ and ‘ that was a good back door!’
 
So the back door had been through it rather.  The chap that fixed it up or bodged it up wanted to replace it with a new one.  At an exorbitant price.  Wonka advised against and said we could make do

Like the concentration of an animal marking its prey, Wonka studied the steady trickle of water through the bottom of the back door.  Loath to alert Landlords to this new problem, I set about laying towels and old bits of cloth down below.  This worked nicely unless it rained in the middle of the night or when I was slaving away at work.  Both happened.  In the night, in my trance like state coming down stairs to use the bathroom, stepping round cats in the dark, cat dishes and cat toys, I was not ready to step into a lake where the kitchen used to be.
 
‘Don’t go in the kitchen Mum! Warned Wonka as I crashed through the front door after another ghastly appointment.  ‘Be strong!’  Wonka suggested I get my courage up and ring the Landlord.  Having just put together a rather good session on assertiveness for my clients, I wondered yet again about the lack of my own.  Surely I can get through a silly old phone call?
 
The Landlord arrived into the yard en famille, on a Saturday morning to inspect guttering and doors accordingly.  I thought I was being assertive although Wonka reports my voice went a little sharp.  Perhaps at the suggestion I was being obstructive.  Me?
 
They want to replace the back door.  Will it still have glass in it I enquired, thinking that neither I nor Wonka could cope if it didn’t.  Assured that it will I am trying to go with the change.  No more faulty bodged up water letting in back door.  It will be double glazed (will I hear Baba on the other side?) and probably that PVC stuff.  Dad would twizzle round in his urn.
Wonka is asleep on the top of the settee and Golly slumbers on below.  
Meanwhile I am working on an Anger Management session for my clients, this will dovetail with the assertiveness Wonka says.   He also recommends some stuff on anxiety and stress but the thought of it has me in a sweat.  For now I am concentrating on my regime, and the gallery.  There is a new chap on it who seems remarkably ordinary.
 
‘Is he local?’ checks Wonka.
 
Is he hell.
 
The End
 
Folks I do hope you enjoyed the second in the series!!  if you want to read on, then please go to smashwords.com and look for the next conversations with wonka!!  Go forth into the next week with your furry fur sleek and shining and those whiskers preened!!
big Love Wonka XXXXX
 
 

Saturday 9 February 2019

Reaping the Benefits! X

FOLKS!!! Tis ME your beloved Wonka faithfully reporting on a busy bee week (for some.)

First Up, Owner was overheard on the phone to her best cousin Liz saying things like: 'SO I AM ALRIGHT - and - I am REAPING WHAT I HAVE SEWN this year so far...............'

well folks I did look round for this piece of sewing and was just about to give up as  couldn't see anything next to the needlework box OR splayed over the back of the settee ready to be sewn after Owner had chopped it about BUT it turns out Owner meant sewing seeds AND this is a SAYING that means millions of years after you have put all the effort and hard work in, IT WILL START TO PAY OFF.X

 

WHO IS THAT WONKA? you all shout up wide awake and in wonderment....that folks is best cousin Liz who Owner was droning to for what seemed like hours the other night OR yesterday.X
 
so just what is it that Owner is reaping you all still want to know?  the  minute Owner felt too tired and old to do any more work did the calls come flooding in so that last week she could hardly turn round for Year 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11.  THOSE PESKY year sevens had me on the run she declared to anyone who would listen, and folks I did try to hear her out when she fell back in coughing and moaning on about her sore throat (too much shouting at the students to keep the noise down.  I know.X)and seeing as how it was smack on tea time and we were all starving, I tried to make her feel better right up to my best tea time landing on my special saucer.  RUGGLES was demanding to be fed from the bathroom which is his new resting up place and dat Squeaka was just here there and everywhere. XX
 
 
 
There is dat Squeaka!! snuggling up to Owner's new bedtime read by Jane Fallon.  This should put owner to sleep nicely and in the best possible way folks.XX
 
So Owner is back working and earning us a crust, the aged parent is nesting up in a Ward in hospital called Aspen where she is now MORE SETTLED and not swearing.  Owner says she has never heard the aged swear until the other day AND she spelt it out.  today though folks all was sweetness and light AND she was left watching the original Jane Eyre. Then Owner sped to the gym and had a small swim in a small pool which was suddenly populated by all these weekenders on a SPA break.  I mean.  But Wonka, she droned to me, I did get into the steam room for five mins.X
 
Now let us come back down to earth folks and just for a minute imagine a country not torn apart by pollytics and brexit on toast.....NOW no one PERSONNE can remember that time anymore and jezzer can write as many letters as he likes, it will not stop the mess and folks, some say HE WANTS it to be a mess so he can save the country (or the world).  Owner has ceased to take interest in that opposition party that could not oppose a knitting pattern never mind Tresa grey and her endless rhetoric thingwotsit.  We think Vinnie is on the case but it might be a suitcase. XX
 
Over on the telly we are glued to the Greatest Dahncer which has turned into a bit of show since Owner fell in love with Matthew thingy who is a CHAMPION of his acts.  Then we have to catch up with The voice on Sundee when there is a lot of other catching up with things.  In Corrie it was all about Johnee and Jenee and their court case that fell through as Liz went on her holidees.  Gemma is now on with Chesnee and David and wotsit had a melt down about her murdering son PLUS Owner's new fave Abi had a fling on Peetah's boat. Call the midwifey is always a sobber and a smiler AND next week it is beloved John n Gregg from Masterchef back on our screens and we love them  XX
 
Now folks, this year is turning out to be what Owner said (now I understand it) and anything you put a lot of hard work into say six or seven years ago and beyond - blow me down if you don't start seeing a reward from that.  so, hold on tight, meet every single challenge coming at you because beyond that folks, is your dream - it is right within your grasping paw!!! Have a furry purry tingly whiskery week out there folks!! big Love Wonka XX
 



Saturday 2 February 2019

The Endangered Species of Wonka !!

FOLKS!!! I heard talk that the Googley Plus is to be wiped from the face of this internet!! AND if so, Owner said to me she said WONKA WHAT ABOUT OUR (folks we all know it is MY) blog?? without further ado AND not even a roll on those drums oh alright let's have one and a little crash on the cymbals and a tinkle on the triangle AND finally a shake of the tambourine - if this blogetty blog vanishes through no fault of MINE or Owner's then you must find us once more by visiting my very good FB page link herewith:https://www.facebook.com/wonkaandmousey/



Now as a special treat for you, I am sharing with Owner's help of course the very first Wonka Story from smashwords.com AND if we are to be saved on here, there will be regular sequels and threequels and so on.............Do Enjoy and we'll be back before you know it. XXX

Conversations with Wonka
Part One
 
Published by Madeleine Masterson at Smashwords
 
Copyright 2013 Madeleine Masterson



Before Wonka, we were a bit solemn.  After what seemed like endless cats and beloved dogs I had whittled down to Golly  - an unobtrusive, selfless dark coated tabby cat who pretended not to be blind for ages, leaping here and there, even popping out and coming home again.
 
‘I must get my assistant, trainee to see this,’ chortled Mr Jones my most favourite and best Vet in the universe ‘ this is very unusual the way his eye is – you did know he was blind? No no and no.  And realising that Mr Jones was a bit quick on the old putting them down for the faintest sign of ill health, said that Golly was having the time of his life, with or without sight.  It was true!
And when I made my decision to move, which like most decisions are years in the making and very quick in the doing, Golly came too.
 
During the journey in the old peugeot/skylark with Golly sitting quietly and calmly in his basket on the passenger seat next to me, I had posed the question of us being shall we say, without a playmate.   Wouldn’t it be nice I carried on, if me and Gol had such a playmate, to cheer us up, make us laugh and smile of a rotten day?  Before we knew it, about six months later, Wonka had been delivered up completely fitting the bill. 
 
Of course Golly had on occasions offered up some very sage advice.  This top or that top?  Do I look funny in these trousers?  Golly’s placid stare would often talk me down from going out in the wrong outfit, the wrong shoes, scarf and so on.  And being so benevolent, when Wonka blew in through the back door on a gentle summer breeze, he let him in.
From then on, it was all about Wonka really.  Golly slept, Wonka played.  He played with the old toys, the non toys, the new set of mice – I did have a long chat with Wonka about the availability of single items as opposed to packs.  Packs of three, six, twelve, any combination you like except trying to buy just one.  On this subject though Wonka stood firm.  He chirped up, in his schoolboy voice, that if you lost the one mouse you were stumped.  With three, there was always one on the go and two stuck in the dusty spidery corner under the blanket box.  You know, the one where you had to practically dislocate your arm to get the two said mice out from.
 
‘Watch out!’  Wonka would screech as I nearly stepped on his favourite red plastic ball with a bell in.  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you!’ he would shriek as I nearly fell to my death on a mouse on the stair.  Yes life had become exciting again after a long shallow or is it fallow period.  Golly slumbered on, waking to eat the food put straight under his nose and maybe popping out in the sun now and then.  Wonka, due to his unfettered interest in the other side of the busy street, became housebound.  A happy little prisoner gazing now at said street behind the safety of the bay window at the front.
 
Life meandered on really until gradually Wonka was relegated to a sort of counsellor come mentor, dishing out advice and guidance to me, on any subject that warranted such.  Now whereas Golly has been cool and calm in his wisdom, Wonka was much more direct.
 
‘Me and Golly are starving!’ he would shriek as I poured through the door after another strenuous day avoiding pitfall after pitfall with the staff.  ‘You didn’t leave me enough biscuits’ he would add, winding round the catfood shelf and tipping the packet of cat biscuits over.
 
‘I’ve had a god awful day – they’re on about gaps between contracts and Primes and all sorts of manoeuvres’ I moaned, carefully stepping over Golly who was patiently waiting to be fed.
 
‘It’ll all pan out!  We love you lots’ shouted Wonka. I sipped my tea and wondered if it would.  I pictured me in the skylark, piled up with the few things (lots of things) I had to have with me, and Gol and Wonkit secure in their baskets.  Gol in the front of course and Wonkit on the back seat probably covered in the things I had to have with me.  Gol would be silent and accepting whilst Wonka would be talking the entire journey.  We would set off on our adventure.  Usually when I thought of this our destination was Scotland.  It always seemed best to run away to Scotland.
‘It’ll all shake down Mum.’ Wonka allowed Golly to wash him round and then raced upstairs to be there before I was.
 
‘Golly did that!’ – the bedcover was a scrumpled mess on the bed.  ‘You left that window open all day and me and Golly were freezing’.  I closed said window.
 
Further advice led to me having sausages and baked potato for tea.
Later on, and still ruminating on plots at work and whether my job was safe or not, Wonka reassured me. ‘You’ve still got me and Gol!  Outside we heard a miaowing.  Wonka sped round inspecting out of windows and sniffing at the back door.   He also got on the kitchen worktop and put his head under the heavy curtain shielding me from the outside world.  From here he could peer out the half glass on the door.  Baba was outside.
 
‘Come on Ba’ I motioned him in.  He was a black cat that might or might not live somewhere.  Golly would have immediately offered him a home with us.  Wonka however said not.   ‘We’ve got enough on’ he decided.  So that was that.  Baba, so named for his piteous squeak, was allowed in to eat and straight out again.  He did make efforts to become part of the household but Wonka was not to be swayed on this.  Charming games with a wooden mouse that Wonka had never ever played with before, a playful roll over to show us his kitten like appeal – none of it worked.
 
‘We’ll starve.  It’ll be too much for you Mum!  And so Baba stayed on the outside.
Wonka was not without a small fan base, with me naturally, at the top of his adoring fans.  A small friend of ours called Thomas and I say small in terms of age rather than personality.  I think Thomas is probably about 30ish masquerading as a boy of five.  Well he and Wonka became acquainted about two years ago, Golly quickly resuming second place in his affections.  Being Golly, and therefore oozing with christ-like tendencies, his unconditional love reaches everywhere and it is alright.  Wonka, who looks like a buddha cat but is firmly materialistic, competitive and seeks pleasure all the time, is pleased to be first in anyone’s affections especially Thomas’.  Invited to comment, usually by phone, on seemingly insignificant events eg Thomas riding a two-wheeled bike for the first time, Wonka raises his game.
‘I think you’re marvellous!! – and so does Golliboot!’.   Wonka almost always speaks on Golly’s behalf now – sometimes though, Golly’s unique wisdom breaks through.
 
Infact come to think about it, if Golly were to say enough is enough, then Wonka would reign it in.  Their playfights hold testament to this, as it is always Wonka who backs down and hides behind the settee or under the table.
 “ Golly can’t see me!  He chortles, and “Sorry Golly!” in case he can.  Yes Wonka is on the money he really is.  Another thing, I realised, and again I have Wonka to thank.  A while back I thought I would be a counsellor – I have always shunned this gentle art preferring the more tortuous route of working it out for myself.  A long standing admirer of Carl Jung, this seemed however arduous, a life long task that had riches aplenty.  A further conversation with Wonka on the subject of another Carl, reinforced this view.
 
I had taken to calling Golly, ‘Daddy Golly’.  This may have been prompted by Wonka, who was smallish and youngish once.  As a means of saying, Golly knows best.  Wonka though, pointed out the psychology of this to me the other day.  “He’s not my Daddy!” he chirped and continued with “ and he’s not yours either!”  I had of course pondered on the resurrection of my Dad, now in wood carving heaven, via the cats.  He had loved cats all his life.
 
I also imagined sitting in one of those confrontational groups where you ,one by one,  ‘tell all’.  Supposedly with the loving but firm guidance of a professional.  Wonka questioned this immediately.  “You can’t tell me that kind of thing works…”  Well, it all depends on……….
“Superficial claptrap!” shrieked Wonka, and although he didn’t talk of transference, or organic selves or any of that therapy jargon, he was getting there.  I mean, did it matter if Dad was back in our lives courtesy of Golly?  Wonka’s down to earth approach definitely challenged anything airy fairy.
Carl Rogers’ army of bland beings, all having reached their potential and all the more boring for it – was I missing out?  The dark wood of the psyche eh.
Wonka was becoming a familiar face at the front bay window.  Leaping onto the sill as I left the house, advising me from the other side of the glass, so he would be there on my return.  He also popped out on the main sill, sitting next to a snow leopard called Maximillian.  Just as a treat for walkers by, I often decorated the big cat, excelling myself on the day of the eagerly awaited royal wedding.  He sported a pink and silver plastic tiara and fake blue sapphire engagement ring.  It was noticed and Wonka only knocked the ring off towards the end of the day.
 
Anyhow, so Wonka greeted me long before I shuffled into the hallway with work bags shopping bags and swimming bags and the rest.  Oh that would be the lightweight cat litter that will do fine come the revolution.  This particular day I turned up at the door in a bit of a state.  The rusty thing I had in my hand was the spare front door key long buried in a plant pot and which broke immediately in the lock.  Just a small panic as I imagined not just being locked out of the skylark (the entire set of keys nestling on the back seat) but having to get someone to sort out the front door.  The half a broken key fell out though, and I thanked my lucky stars.
 
‘ We’re starving me and Golly!  Get a move on Mum!”  Wonka shouted at me through the glass.  “I’m trying to get in.” I whispered back.  Stress levels were high and the locking of the car door and then looking through the window at my keys was testament to this. 
Strangely, it was the first of a series of bank hols and Easter was first up.  At a time like this, neighbourly love, or any sign of a benevolent influence is extra special.  With Wonka gazing on, I began my encounter with said neighbour and influence. 
 
“ I’ve always liked him! “ cheeped Wonka when I finally returned. “ You need to chill out!!” as he leapt towards the kitchen overtaking Golly in the rush to get fed.  Swearing fairly quietly and acknowledging stress levels, I wondered at the miracle of the retrieval.  This neighbour had professed a knowledge of opening car door locks with a wire.  Twenty minutes on, and still not in a full blown panic or anywhere near to crying, I stayed calm.  He had appeared moments after I locked myself out of the skylark and answered immediately to my statement of: “ You’ve got to help me!”   Off he zoomed to his garage to get the car breaking into equipment.  The old skylark should be a piece of cake I advised him, been broken into millions of times. Hmmm.
 
I shifted my gaze from the piece of wire, tantalisingly close to pulling the lock up but each time bobbing away, to Wonka.  He was still in the front bay window looking over at us.  “Why?” he would have been thinking.
 
“Shall I have a go?” – I took the wire from the neighbour and then, then the hand of God reached down and guided mine.  A second later the wire had clinched onto the door lock.  “What do I do now!”  I prayed the wire would do what we wanted it to, and then we heard that satisfying click.
Wonka has vowed to leave the flowers alone.  He loves flowers and demonstrates this by pulling them out of their vases and playing with them.  Eating them sometimes.
 
“Pack it up!” I say to him. “Sorry” he shouts back.  And he is sorry of course he is.  Golly continues as a benign and higher being, sleeping peacefully in Wonka’s best spot on the settee.  Baba has been wormed and brushed.  This caused me a mild anxiety attack in case I had got the dose wrong.
“ He’ll be fine “ advised Wonka on guard on the sideboard with a fine view out the back. And “ You worry about nothing!”
 
He is so right.
 
 
 
The End folks - I do hope that has cheered you on with all the snow and it being February and all!! Keep that fur coat on at all times and your paws inside a wooly mit! big Love Wonka XXXX