The saddest part of losing it was not realising it was lost in the first place! Oh, you can mock age related degenerative memory but admit it, when was the last time you were spontaneous? Oh, dear, you can't remember?
Well, I've found it! The freedom of yielding to sudden impulse, seizing a spur of the moment opportunity and not doing the expected or planned. Spontaneity.
We were born with this treasure and lost it along the way to grown up-hood. Note, grown up, not adult. Officially we are adults somewhere around 18 or so, but growing up is a choice and once you've bought property, a mode of transport or birthed offspring, you've grown up.
Bills, responsibilities and the chilling prospect of rearing young humans rapidly sucks impulse from each and every cell in our bodies. You're adulting when your own, miserably serious and sensible parents spew unbidden from your lips. Money saving lifestyle habits like packed lunches, travel mugs and switching off lights are the norm and snuggling up in front of an old dvd is more appealing that donning stilettos and queuing for hours to get into a club. Hey, tomorrow's a work day, remember?
I'm caught up in the sight of carefree children squealing with delight, spinning round in circles and falling into dizzy heaps or begging to be pushed higher and higher on the swing. How quickly their attention switches, one minute totally absorbed in something which is rapidly discarded when another, more interesting nugget passes by. No responsibilities or duties weighing them down.
One of 2016's most satisfying moments for me was hearing No 2 Son wail about how 'adulting' was killing him - lectures, car ownership, managing his student digs and life on his own had sucked all the joy from his 21 year old soul. Ha. Payback, baby!
Ahem. We are the anchors of our own lives. Eagerly swallowing tons of tie-me-downs like krill-munching Humpback whales, we wallow in uber-organised sensibleness. But it doesn't have to be so and when an unplanned trip into the Kruger National Park to meet a visiting friend for lunch morphed into 'we have room in our chalet, stay the night' it took one very deep breath, a visit to the Park shop for a toothbrush and Bob's your uncle, I played truant from my own life.
Now how sad is that?
If you've popped into this blog before, you may have read about Anushka, the Scaredy Cat we adopted from Pro Life in October 2014. She spent the first 5 months living under the bed, incurring substantial vet bills treating the hay fever allergy stirred by the dust. Regrettably, she's not the least bit grateful either for the thousands of Rands blown on Pheromone infused collars in a vain attempt to calm the cattiness between her and the feline already in residence.
I'm happy to report that today Anushka is out and about and absolute Queen of the Household. Him Outdoors is not impressed, calling her a "Pampered Princess", which may have something to do with the daily grooming she demands. That process started out as a necessity - this cat sheds strands of fur like confetti, she's a one-cat ticker-tape parade. It's quite a sight to see her stalk across the lawn enveloped in an aura of pastel-hued fur.
Tired of wading through her leavings, I took to a daily brushing which removes handfuls of fur and, contrary to the belief that cats cannot be trained, she recognises the question "is it time for a brush?" and scampers to the brushing station. Anuschka is in heaven during this process, eyes glazing over while she adjusts her position constantly to ensure every body part is reached while chatting vociferously throughout.
Heaven help my being too busy for the daily routine because she barges into the office, yowling loudly and making sure everything is dropped and she's followed to the grooming spot.
Having trained her humans to feed and brush on demand, she was free to check out the garden poultry. We have a wonderful variety of garden and wild birds popping in for seed and fruit and Anushka rather likes this arrangement, having dedicated a particular spot on the railing where she can comfortably settle at eye level with the birdfeeder. Unfortunately for her, we'd got her measure and while the feeder may be at eye level, it's well out of cat paw or even leap reach so all she can do is whimper piteously at the bevy of Bronze Mannikins twittering away. Not as well trained as the household, the birds ignore her completely; refusing to flutter closer and deliver themselves into her quivering jaws.
Despite ample, rather upmarket cat food in her bowl at all times, she'd much rather have a fresh bird and every feathered creature that flutters, hops, walks or flies in and around our premises is fair game for stalking, with a spectacular lack of success. Considering how many hours Anushka spends leopard crawling, sinking her podgy body as deeply to the ground as possible and lying in wait, nary a bird meal has come her way. Sometimes, it's the pathetic mewling that slips out past her salivating lips giving the game away.
Mostly, though, it's the thrashing tail frantically thudding side to side like a pendulum, striking the ground so hard she raises dust. In the crispy dun landscape laid bare by the drought, Anushka is perfectly camouflaged and it's really amazing to see how close she gets to flocks of Babblers or the Mocking Chats. If only she could control that overactive tail! That frantic flickering protuberance loses the game every time and is her tragic flaw. Hubris!
I must say, the secret of her failure is not lost on me - absolute stillness and silence sometimes have their place when in hot pursuit of a particular goal.
