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Caught by Cats

[ 5 minute read ]

 

People of 'yore' (olden days) were far more able to know what was happening in their villages than anyone in the modern world can with their digital devices today.

If the villagers in the past saw a wet cat they could easily infer that there is disease in the area. It might even have been possible to borrow a cat a while ago.

QUOTE 'A magical method of transferring any disease was to throw the water in which the patient had washed, over a cat, and then drive the creature from the house.’ (Encyclopedia of Superstitions). However, black cats should never be driven from the home otherwise the household can expect bad luck and misfortune. Someone, maybe a young family member, may, beyond the little story (below), be scolded.

In this little story we have Blackberry, a cat so named because he was born at Michaelmas, the end of the blackberry season; Spew, a Tortoiseshell cat; and Fluffy, a skinny cat whose fur has mostly fallen out.

     'Hey Blackberry!'  mewed Spew, a Tortoiseshell cat.

     'Hello, Spew.’

     'Ugh! You're all wet.’

     'Yeah, homeless again, as well! It's alright for you.'

     'What do you mean. I get wet too.’

     'It's coming up to May and your tail is needed to rub on warts to make them fall off.’

     'But only in May. In June, I get wet.’

     'I just leave the home before anyone washes. I mean more than once a week, anyway,' chimed in Fluffy, who had sauntered up to join them. 'I used to get fooled by people offering bowls of milk and I would go in, but not anymore.’

     'No,' maiowed Blackberry. 'It is the cow barn for me from now on.’

QUOTE 'In some parts of Europe, cattle were believed to acquire the gift of speech on Christmas Eve. It was however, dangerous for any human being to listen to their talk. Whoever did so would meet with misfortune..’ (Encyclopedia of Superstition). Apparently, the listening person might hear of their own death. It was believed that during the Holy Season of Christmas animals had foreknowledge and knew what might occur on the farm.

     'Wait for us. We're coming with you,' mewed Spew.

A damp warm smell met the cats’ delicate noses. This was not the farmyard of our playful childhoods that we read about in twee books. This was a farm with astringent and corrosive uric acid that threatened to burn the back of the throat, and rampant bacteria that slowly dissolved the wooden walls with its fecal acidity. Yet there were islands of comparative comfort and safety in the guise of heaped straw in one of the corners and in the loft above.

Ignoring the three cows chewing their cud, with nothing else to eat, the cats made their way up to the loft by careful and studied leaping. Spew climbed the ladder. She remarked on the health of the three beasts below.

     'What's up with the black and white one lying down?’

Even though the cats had recognised that there was a man seemingly dozing in the stored hay, they did not expect him to answer Spew's question.

     'I offered to buy it, but it was not for sale. It is probably going to die, so now the farmer has to sell it.’

‘I have heard of you. You are the glue-man's son or assistant, aren't you? Your father buys ill cattle and makes glue from their horns and hooves.’

     'That is why I am hiding, cats.’

     'You make them ill by offering to buy cattle that are not for sale!' hissed Blackberry. He arched his back and fixed the rising man with his piercing green eyes.

QUOTE 'To meet a black cat is usually thought to be fortunate, especially if it runs across the path of the observer. […] In East Yorkshire, while it is lucky to own a black cat, it is unlucky to meet one.' (Encyclopedia of Superstitions)

In America, it is white cats that were lucky and everything about black cats is to Americans, attributed to white cats and vice-versa; so Americans were appalled to see Europeans petting white cats and not minding if they crossed our paths from left to right or turning back on themselves.

     'Oh no you don't.' Blackberry mewled,  'You are not going to stroke me  three times for good luck to save your skin from the farmer.’

     'You will get no luck from Blackberry.' offered Fluffy haughty with her wisdom.

     'Too right!'  mewed Spew.  'He won't even enter anyone houses uninvited anymore. He just won't give anyone free luck.’

     'They keep getting ill. I am still wet from the last time!' moaned Blackberry.

Fluffy pondered for a while and then announced, 'You know what? If the villagers catch you and kill you, I might jump over your coffin so your soul is haunted by what you do.’

Spew laughed because he had noticed two hefty looking lads in the byre (barn) doorway looking up to the loft. His attention had been drawn by a warning low from one of the cows.

     'I reckon that's him.' said the tallest one with tousled hair.

     'I reckon it is, and crazy too. He's talking to the cows.' Neither of the lads had seen the cats half buried in the straw, only the looming, rising man.

     'Karma', lowed the black and white ailing cow before letting its head fall for the last time.

     - End -

Cattle diseases were, like those of human beings, often attributed to witchcraft. So, in medieval days, once the glue-man's son or assistant is caught he would be looking at being dunked in the village pond to see if he drowned or not. If he did drown he would be free of guilt for witchcraft and Fluffy would probably be chased out of the church where his coffin might lie for a while. In 1964, when the Radfords compiled their book, I wouldn't be surprised if offended people made him, or people using magic, look at a full moon through glass or something, or perhaps they might have handed 'magic' people a slippery mirror, hoping they might drop it and have seven years bad luck.

References

Encyclopedia of Superstitions, E. & M. A. Radford, edited by Christina Hole, 1974, London, Book Club Associates, by arrangement with Hutchinson and Co. (Publishers) Ltd. [1964]

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You just can't rely on guesses anymore

[ 8 minute read ]

There is always something going on in my village and groups to connect with other people. On the back page of a frre A5 sized booklet we get each month, in colour, is a notice that the 'Men's Shed' group will soon be recommencing meetings at the Recreation Ground Pavilion. It really is that type of village that calls the playing fields a recreation ground.

I am thinking of taking one of my bicycles to the 'Mens Shed' on the 18th March; they have a little note on their page saying if you have a small item that needs fixing, bring it along. I know that my bike is not small, but it isn't a washing machine, and I have all the right tools to fix it but don't seem to be able to make any progress. The thing is, this particular bike is so old that it seems the gear-set has sort of bonded to the spindle.

I am fairly certain the men in the shed will simultaneously raise their hands to their chins and as one say. 'Well, if you have tried all that and it didn't work, maybe you should think of buying  a new bike.' Even the old men these days are consumers and not fixers, I feel. I shall, if they do this, not tell them that I have four more bikes just the same, because I believe in experiencing bikes and not just throwing things away when things get ugly. Of course, I may be wrong, but I am familiar with my village and its residents. When I helped one of them with a puncture on his bicycle he offered to pay me! You know, I am a villager so let me monetise it!'

I sometimes pass some women riding horses, and I am on speaking terms with one of them. Well, I asked her how fast her horse goes. She said she had a pick-up car drive alongside her in a field and her horse reached 30 miles an hour (48 kph).

I think she might know someone with a Shire Horse or Percheron or Suffolk Punch, or something to pull the gear-set off. I will try anything, because the project to renovate the bike has gone on for over three years now.

St Mary's Church and the Baptist Church Centre is a good place to have some light fun. At St Mary's church there will soon be a 'Music Cafe' on two Saturday afternoons. It is free but seeks donations. I always keep the booklet page open to remind me of places and events I want to go to and attend, but never go because something distracts me. The Church is looking for local musicians to play music while tea-drinkers carefully and smoothly sip. In my village there will be no slurping. On the booklet page there are images of a clarinet and a guitar. One can't help imaging that we might hear 'Strangers on the Shore' by Acker Bilk and possibly 'Take Five' originally by the Dave Brubeck Quartet, but we have an academy, and not a secondary school in our village, so perhaps it will be something by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov or Brahms.

I doubt there will be anyone wrenching a guitar to mimic Jimi Hendrix, but maybe we might get 'Sunrise' by Norah Jones or 'Cavatina', the theme tune to 'The Deer Hunter', composed by Stanley Myers, or maybe just a cavatina.

I just 'YouTubed', 'clarinet music' and the Iceland Symphony Orchestra arrived with Mozarts, 'Clarinet Concerto in A major, K. 622'. How kind of them to scour the island to find so many classical musicians from a population of only about 349,000; nearly 70,000 of which are immigrants.

At Customs:

     'Hello. What is the purpose of your visit? Business or pleasure?'

     'I can play a musical instrument.'

     'Wonderful! Would you like to live here...please? '

     'Thank you. I can chant at important international football matches too.'

     'Marvellous! Would you consider running for mayor?'

Surprisingly I have met a few Icelandics, and they are great fun and not at all a subject for disrespect. I am just following a comedic line based on the low population. I once remarked on it and joked with an Icelandic man and asked him if he had met everyone there. He said, 'Probably'.

I somehow doubt that a clarinet and guitar will be paired to play Gypsy Jazz in St Mary's church, but I have heard Dr Seuss quoted in an Anglican church by a lay-person in my birth-village.

Do you want to know how your grandad lost the family estate in a card game? Because when he threw a used match in the ashtray after lighting his cigar or pipe, someone else threw in another match that landed cross-wise over your grandad's. That is how to cross out luck, according to the book on Superstitions I have. We just never know how we came to be so poor.

If I told you that I am not superstitious and take such nonsense with a pinch of salt, would you think it much different to me saying I am not superstitious because I think it is bad luck to be superstitious? There are fourteen separate pages on salt in the Superstitions book. Be careful what you do with it; even pinches.

However, I have just had a thought on how to fix my bike. I might 'manifest' it fixed. 'Manifesting' is something I think I used to do when I was a teenager and wanted to borrow some money from my mum. I was pretty much left to my own devices when I was sixteen and lived in a house with my nineteen year old brother as my guardian. Think Cinderella for boys, and me never going to the ball, and you will get the picture handsomely. Back then, I read in a book titled 'Mind Games', that if you want to borrow money from someone you should, before asking for the loan, think about the money at every moment in the conversation preceding the request. As far as I know it worked, because my mum, who lived a three hour cycle ride away, never refused me.

I know that I have, in the past, accidentally cast a 'spell' by saying aloud. 'Who stole my...(whatever it is I cannot find)' and whatever it is appears right away, just a few feet away from me. I think things only reappear in order to make me feel foolish, and clumsy in my attempts to hunt properly. I suppose I should learn from that, but I also know that I often get tricked, just so someone or something gets a laugh at my expense. Nonetheless, it always works. Maybe there is a supervisor who slaps the imps down and says, 'Leave him alone!'. I have never stretched the way of it by saying aloud, 'Who stole my fortune' with a hope that a huge amount of money will suddenly arrive on my kitchen worktop and spill onto the floor. I know it won't. Years ago, I did my Chinese Horoscope, and it quite plainly told me that I will not be able to accrue any savings, so there is no fortune to be found. Incidentally this is the Chinese Year of the Horse. I think I might try saying, 'Who broke my bike?' and accuse the world, but I actually know the answer to that, and if there is a 'supervisor', so do they.

     'Oh, I say, dear spirit, would you be a dear and fix my bike. I simply must break my fast with chickpeas, egg and rice.' (I have run out of bread and Baked Beans).

I think if I really wanted to, I might be able to cheat and bend the edge of the spirit world over my bike for a time, but I am afraid that the bike might try to kill me one day by letting one of the brake cables snap at a vital moment when emergency braking makes me squeeze the calipers firmly shut. I am pretty sure that I only need to loosely tie a limp piece of string to the front gear set tonight with the other end tied to another bike, and I would be woken by a loud 'clunk' and tomorrow the gear set will be on the floor. But I would have to 'pay the piper', as they say.

There is a lot going on in my village; maybe the garage owner can help me.