As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. We have a major discussion coming up.
He knows I’m not happy. We had a discussion about claws and furniture a while back where it was clearly understood that the scratching post was where he worked on his anger management issues.
And for quite some time I thought it was working.
More fool me.
The trouble is, there are certain parts of a room you don’t venture very often, and one of them is that small space behind the chairs in the lounge. We have a cleaning lady so we don’t venture there very often.
But it’s where we keep our DVD collection, not that we look at DVDs any more, but someone else was looking for one. That’s where I noticed the damage. Near the scratching post, on the corner of the lounge chair, clear evidence of the cat’s work.
He thought if he did it out of sight we wouldn’t notice. He would be right, except for exceptional circumstances.
Now I’m looking for him. He knows. Perhaps that was the reason for the fearsome attitude the other day. Where’s the tiger now?
West Lake is a freshwater lake in Hangzhou, China. It is divided into five sections by three causeways. There are numerous temples, pagodas, gardens, and artificial islands within the lake.
Measuring 3.2 kilometers (2 miles) in length, 2.8 kilometers (1.7 miles) in width, and 2.3 meters (7.5 feet) in average depth, the lake spreads itself in an area totaling 6.5 square kilometers (2.5 square miles).
The earliest recorded name for West Lake was the “Wu Forest River”, but over time it changed to two distinct names. One is “Qiantang Lake”, due to the fact that Hangzhou was called “Qiantang” in ancient times. The other, “West Lake”, due to the lake being west of the city
It’s about to get busy, with a number of activities planned, and the warmth of the day is starting to make an impact.
The tour starts in the car park about a kilometer away, but the moment we left the car park we were getting a taste of the park walking along a tree-lined avenue.
When we cross the road, once again dicing with death with the silent assassins on motor scooters.
We are in the park proper, and it is magnificent, with flowers, mostly at the start hydrangeas and then any number of other trees and shrubs, some carved into other flower shapes like a lotus.
Then there was the lake and the backdrop of bridges and walkways.
.
And if you can tune out the background white noise the place would be great for serenity and relaxation.
That, in fact, was how the boat ride panned out, about half an hour or more gliding across the lake in an almost silent boat, by an open window, with the air and the majestic scenery.
No, not that boat, which would be great to have lunch on while cruising, but the boat below:
Not quite in the same class, but all the same, very easy to tune out and soak it in.
It was peaceful, amazingly quiet, on a summery day
A pagoda in the hazy distance, an island we were about to circumnavigate.
Of all the legends, the most touching one is the love story between Bai Suzhen and Xu Xi’an. Bai Suzhen was a white snake spirit and Xu Xi’an was a mortal man.
They fell in love when they first met on a boat on the West Lake, and got married very soon after.
However, the evil monk Fa Hai attempted to separate the couple by imprisoning Xu Xi’an. Bai Suzhen fought against Fa Hai and tried her best to rescue her husband, but she failed and was imprisoned under the Leifeng Pagoda by the lake.
Years later the couple was rescued by Xiao Qing, the sister of Baisuzhen, and from then on, Bai Suzhen and Xu Xi’an lived together happily.
The retelling of the story varied between tour guides, and on the cruise boat, we had two. Our guide kept to the legend, the other tour guide had a different ending.
Suffice to say it had relevance to the two pagodas on the far side of the lake.
There was a cafe or restaurant on the island, but that was not our lunch destination.
Nor were the buildings further along from where we disembarked.
All in all the whole cruise took about 45 minutes and was an interesting break from the hectic nature of the tour.
Oh yes, and the boat captain had postcards for sale. We didn’t buy any.
Lunch
At the disembarkation point there was a mall that sold souvenirs and had a few ‘fast food’ shops, and a KFC, not exactly what we came to China for, but it seemed like the only place in town a food cautious Australian could eat at.
And when tried to get in the door, that’s where at least 3 busloads were, if they were not in the local Starbucks. Apparently, these were the places of first choice wherever we went.
The chicken supply by the time we got to the head of the line amounted to pieces at 22.5 RMB a piece and nuggets. Everything else had run out, and for me, there were only 5 pieces left. Good thing there were chips.
And Starbucks with coffee and cheesecake.
At least the setting for what could have been a picnic lunch was idyllic.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. It’s going to be an interesting morning.
When I finally make it out to the writing room, I find him sitting on my desk, next to the keyboard, with a rather benign expression.
Remembering that cats can’t have expressive expressions, it worried me that he’s working overtime to make me think he has one.
I can feel his eyes boring into me, following me around the room, watching and waiting.
Waiting for what I wonder.
I also remember that cats are hunters and killers. If he was a lion or a tiger I’d be in a great deal of trouble now. He’d pounce, and that would be the end.
Is this we hat he’d be doing if I let him outside?
Is he sending me a warning?
I finish what I’m doing on the other side of the room and come over to the seat.
Are you done giving me the death stare? I ask him.
A slight shake of the head, and if I wanted to write anything into it, that would be a no.
A few seconds pass, then he jumps down to the floor and walks off.
Job done, I suspect he’s thinking.
Back to his least favourite dinner tonight, I’m thinking.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on the weather.
This is the second day of Spring where it has started warm, and by mid-afternoon, it has reached a high of over 30 degrees Celcius.
It’s the start of the heatwave that basically starts in October, and doesn’t go away until April the following year.
But it’s not the heat that’s the problem, it’s the humidity, and having a day that’s 35 degrees with 1000% humidity, is like being roasted in an oven.
I see the look on Chester’s face when he comes into the writing room, a sly glance up to the roof to see if the fan is going, and a slight shake of the head when he sees it is not.
Not that hot yet, I say.
What did we get the air conditioning for or the solar panels?
He’s sharp and doesn’t miss a trick. It’s now more a benefit to run the airconditioning during the day when solar power is being generated.
We’ll be using it soon, I say. But, just as a matter of interest, don’t you cats like the heat? After all, in winter, you’re just about sitting in the fire.
A glare, no an insolent stare. That’s in winter. This is Summer.
No, it’s Spring. Let me know when it’s Summer and I’ll be happy to help.
He flops on the ground.
At least you put tiles in, it’s nice and cool down here on the floor, he mutters, feigning going to sleep.
And a wide yawn just to emphasize the fact the conversation’s over.
Why not. I turn the fan on high. Just to annoy him.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. Did someone use the word ‘vet’ out loud?
It is odd how some animals can recognise some words and remember what activity is attached to it.
Chester knows the word vet, and his memory attaches a great deal of seemingly horrible experience, not the worst of which is being transported in a pet basket.
Yes, we have just tried carrying him, but there is a sixth sense in every cat that tells them when they’re nearing a vet. Within 50 metres of the front door, the hair stands up, the cat starts hissing as he would face off against a formidable opponent.
We only carried him once, never again.
But the histrionics start in the house where we have to mound a search party to find hi, There are innumerable hiding places, and we have to be organised.
Invariably, each time something like this happens, he finds somewhere new to hide. We keep forgetting he can use his paws to open sliding doors, and close them again, a talent he had learned.
We’ve also learned to start looking a half-hour earlier than we used to. The vet is only three minutes away, and we used to leave it to the last minute, but being late for the appointment happens only once.
Vets are worse than doctors when you miss appointments. PErhaps Chester knows this and tries to use it to his advantage. It no longer works.
Then, once we find him, the next exercise is to get him into the basket. I’ve never seen so many tricks on how not to let the humans put him in it.
But, over time, we’ve learned, and sometimes it’s easy, others, I have the scars to prove it.
Then, once we get to the vet, it’ss a completely different cat, not Chester, but some other cat disguised as him. Chester has never given the vet an ounce of trouble.
Perhaps we should become vets.
Chester is fine, just a little off-colour perhaps from something he ate. Not all pet food is agreeable, and we’ve been trying to get his to have something different. I even specially cook fish for him, and maybe that was the problem.
What is off-putting is the ease in which he goes back into the basket for the vet.
November usually drags. Sometimes, being a so-called shoulder period for flying, we go off on a well deserved holiday when prices are affordable.
Not this year.
November is NaNoWriMo month so I have to stay home and get that done.
It was worth it because so far I’ve written 66,000 words, but there’s still a way to go, and I’m not going to finish it the 30 days allocated. But it is fun to write.
This was withstanding the my disappointment that the ice hockey season hasn’t started yet but this is tempered by the discovery we can get the live coverage, at a reasonable hour of the day, via the internet.
I’m also looking forward to getting back to the blogs because I don’t have time to get anything else done.
My four episodic stories haven’t got a look in and they still sit where they were at the start of the month.
But December is just round the corner, and once I get the last chapters of the NaNoWriMo project completed, I’m straight back to the four stories.
But…
Christmas has somehow managed to sneak up on me, but it will not be like any other, COVID has basically changed everything. We are still trying to work out the logistics of it, even though we are supposedly COVID free, I still think it is lurking somewhere, and all out good work will be undone by a fool. It has before, and it will again.
Perhaps I should be more optimistic, and hope Santa doesn’t get the virus. Imagine the damage he could do, visiting every house in the world!!!!!!!!!
This morning started with a visit to the car rental place in Vancouver. It reinforced the notion that you can be given the address and still not find the place. It happened in Washington where it was hiding in the back of the main railway station, and it happened again in Vancouver when it was hidden inside a hotel.
We simply walked straight past it. Pity there wasn’t a sign to let people know.
However…
We went in expecting a Grand Jeep Cherokee and walked out with a Ford Flex, suitable for three people and four large suitcases. It actually seats 7, but forget the baggage, you’d be lucky to get two large suitcases in that configuration.
It is more than adequate for our requirements.
Things to note, it was delivered with just over a quarter of a tank of gas, and it had only done about 11,000 km, so it’s relatively new. It’s reasonably spacious, and when the extra seats are folded down, there is plenty of baggage space.
So far, so good.
We finally leave the hotel at about half-past ten, and it is raining. It is a simple task to get on Highway 1, the TransCanada Highway, initially, and then onto Highway 5, the Coquihalla Highway for the trip to Kamloops.
It rains all the way to the top of the mountain, progress hampered from time to time by water sprays from both vehicles and trucks. The rain is relentless. At the top of the mountain, the rain turns into snow and the road surface to slush. It’s 0 degrees, but being the afternoon, I was not expecting it to turn to ice very quickly.
On the other side of the mountain, closer to Kamloops, there was sleet, then rain, then nothing, the last 100kms or so, in reasonably dry conditions.
Outside Kamloops, and in the town itself, there was evidence of snow recently cleared, and slushy roads. Cars in various places were covered in snow, indicating the most recent falls had been the night before.
We’re staying at the Park Hotel, a heritage building, apparently built in the later 1920s. In the style of the time, it is a little like a rabbit warren with passages turning off in a number of directions, and showing it is spread across a number of different buildings.
It has the original Otis elevator that can take a maximum of four passengers, and a sign on the wall that says “no horseplay inside the elevator” which is a rather interesting expression that only someone of my vintage would understand. And, for those without a sense of humor, you definitely couldn’t fit a horse in it to play with.
The thing is, how do you find a balance between keeping the old world charm with modern-day expectations. You can’t. Some hotels try valiantly to get that balance. Here, it is simply old world charm, which I guess we should be grateful for because sooner rather than later it’s going to disappear forever.
In my writer’s mind, given the importance of the railways, this was probably a thriving place for travelers, and once upon a time, there were a lot more hotels like this one.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. He’s feeling poorly today.
When I used this expression, he looked at me quizzically, which is not bad for a cat with a constant poker face.
Where did you get that from?
It’s a favourite expression of my mother’s when she wasn’t feeling very well. She had another, ‘not feeling elegant’ today.
It stops and makes me wonder where these expressions come from, and I suspect, because my mother’s mother was of German descent, that it was one of those translation to English things.
Chester seems disinterested. I’m beginning to think there may be something wrong with him because he’s not his usual sardonic self.
Perhaps, I say, it’s time to go to the vet, get checked out. You’re not getting any younger.
His head pops up at the mention of the vet. He knows what this means. The cat basket.
He leaps up with newfound energy and heads for the door.
I get out of my chair to follow, and he’s gone, moving quickly up the passage to one of his hiding spots.
Maybe he’s not that bad. I’ll monitor the situation.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. Our standoff continues.
I can tell he’s not happy because when he’s going down the passage and I’m going in the opposite direction, he changes sides.
Instead of coming over to see what food he’s getting, he waits in another room. That is fine by me because it takes a little longer to find out he’s not in an eating mood.
And come to think of it, he no longer climbs up on the table when we’re having fish. I’ve told him more than once that eating off someone else’s plate is just not good manners.
Perhaps I should not be so concerned he’s not talking to me, because he’s almost become the cat I’ve always wanted.
What’s that expression, cut your nose off to spite your face.
But, it isn’t going to last. This morning when I go down to the library, which is just a fancy name for my writing room, he’s sitting on top of my closed laptop.
I never used to close it but the last time I cleaned it I found cat hair, an allegation he vehemently denied and tried to tell me it the dog we used to have.
I didn’t bother telling him the laptop is new, and the dog’s been gone for 12 years.
I ask him to move.
He yawns and makes himself more comfortable.
He still hasn’t realized that all I have to do is pick him up, and move him, which I do.
I sit down to start work, he jumps up on the table and gives me that ‘I dare you to do that again’ look, and I stare back with the ‘do you really want to do this’ look.
It would be very interesting if duelling was still allowed. There are a few people I’d like to stand toe to toe with, take ten paces, then test my ability to shoot with an old style flint duelling pistol.
What’s this got to do with anything?
It’s where our word of the day comes in. If I lose my nerve, or I know my opposite number is a better shot, my second would have to stand in my place.
It’s, if anything, an older use of the word.
Of course, it mainly means, on one hand, coming second in a race or a competition, not exactly the place you really want to be, simply because no one really remembers who came second.
It plays host to a plethora of statements using second as part of the saying, such as,
Second rate, second hand, even if it had more than one owner, second best.
But then there’s a few more that mean something else like a second look, mainly because you didn’t trust your eyes, second nature, it’s been drilled into you (a rather painful idiom if it truly was) and second sight, though this might not necessarily be a verifiable attribute.
And, of lesser note, I’m not necessarily sure I’m second to none.
On the other hand, and pardon the pun using this definition, it also describes a length of time, very short in fact, and it takes 60 of them to make a minute.
Hang on, it’ll only take a second. Yes, we often use the word in vain. I doubt there is any one of us who could do anything useful in a second.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 