Morning Reflections
I woke up to the sound of birds singing cheerfully into the still dark night. It had been raining throughout the night, the drops pattering softly against the window panes.
I slept off and on all day yesterday through to this morning. My body has been aching since last week when l lost my balance in the flowerbed, whilst planting spring flowers. I became embedded in a rose bush. My body was scraped and achey. Now, after sleeping for so long, l am hoping l would feel better.
I snuggled deeper under the covers trying to go back to sleep. It was no use. I was awake. Slowly l climbed out of bed. I put on my dressing gown and bedroom slippers. It is a chilly morning. I spied my face in the mirror and quickly brushed my hair. From sleeping so much, my hair had piled into a peak on the top of my head. ‘Ugh!’ I thought to myself as l brushed it back into shape.
I went downstairs, expecting to see a pile of dishes in the sink. Kelly had thoughtfully washed everything and tidied up. He had already left for work. Thank you, Kelly, l thought to myself. I had been so tired the day before, it was a great effort just brushing my teeth before going to bed. I put the kettle on for tea, filled the outdoor cats food bowl and set it out for them. As l opened the back door the joyous chirping of the birds filled the air. The birds were everywhere, on tree branches, on the fence and the bushes. They did not fly away. They just sang, as if they knew their music made me happy. As if they knew they had nothing to fear from me. I smiled as l observed them. I felt the exhaustion and the pain disappear. The weather was chilly, especially with only my
nightgown on. I closed the back door reluctantly and sat down to my cup of tea.
For years, each morning I would fill up my outdoor cats bowl with food and place it on the back doorstep. I had more or less ten cats come to eat. Sometimes some would leave for a while but then come back again. Timma was my favourite. She would rush to greet me each morning and rub against me. l sat on the park bench on summer days, with my tea and my book early in the morning when it is still and quiet, before the world awoke. She would sit next to me and allow me to pet her. When Timma had her litter, she presented them to Peter and me. They were tiny! We set up little bowls for them so the older cats would not harm them accidentally. On summer weekends Peter would join me sitting in the garden at our wrought iron round table and four chairs having our tea and breakfast. Timma and her brood would join us. They would frolic and chase each other as children of any species do, carefree and content. We would look at them with amusement. How carefree they were, just like any child at play.
Sometimes other cats would come as well, Angélique, Angélique’s baby, Tawny, Spot, Snow White and oh so many more.
In the mornings they would listen for my footsteps coming down the stairs for they knew l would soon be out with their bowl of food. They would patiently sit and take their turns at the bowl of food.
When Peter died suddenly, life changed. I went into a deep grieving shock. I was not as attentive to my cats, the garden, the flowers… Part of me died and because of it, so did the garden. My cats went away for a while, but little by little they are coming back. My garden felt sad and neglected. I looked at it and knew that is not what it should look like. Many happy memories took place here. This garden should reflect those memories. The sound of our many friends and family, the laughter and companionship still linger in the breeze, in the trees and bushes.
The garden is on its way back and so are my cats. This past fortnight Tawny came back. Come on Angélique, come on Angélique’s Baby, l am waiting for you, and where are you, Timma and Timolena?
Ah, Timolena is back also; there comes Tawny. Maybe life is going back to normal.