Tag Archives: love

I miss her

Last night I said goodbye to Boo. My familiar, my fat cat, my little beast with rabbit paws. She magically arrived on my balcony 10 years ago, whined until I let her in, and then never left. She chose me, and I’ve adored her and protected her for a huge part of my life. No matter what awful things happened to me or how sad I was, I could nuzzle my face into her fur and she would purr to make me feel better. Last night I tried to do the same for her as the vet inserted a needle into her thin paw, still shaved from the drip she’d been on for days, her failed kidneys having done all they could.

Boo was the most uncat-like cat you’ve ever met. Sweet, loving, a true character, running to the door and mewling when I got home as if to say, “Where have you been?” She had many aunties who happily Boo-sat when I was away and adopted her as their own. People who didn’t even like animals met her and fell a bit in love with her. She could fix you with an impervious look to let you know she didn’t need your attention, but then she’d stretch out one white-socked paw as if to say, “Okay, we can be friends. Come pat me now.”

She loved her food, cuddles, drinking from the tap, lying inside cardboard boxes and on human chests. She was not adventurous, preferring to lie in a sunny spot and whine at the birds who rested on her windowsill. Her black and white fur was thick and soft, her whiskers improbably long.

I’d never had a cat before Boo. I’d loved dogs, family dogs. But I’d never had a creature who was simply part of my soul. Now I feel like I’ve lost a little piece of myself. I keep looking for her and almost finding her. I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I feel something warm by my feet while lying in bed. I hear a crunching noise of food being eaten from a bowl. I listen for a cardboard box rustle and an enquiring mewl. I reach out for her, to stroke that incredibly soft fur and feel comforted, to know that everything will be okay.

My heart is broken into a million pieces. And the only one who can make me feel better is her. I dream of her and I still can’t believe she’s not in the other room, curled up on the sofa with one little paw tucked under her. My angel Boo is gone and I miss her.

“A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.” – Ernest Hemingway

Dad’s first SMS

I love my Dad. He can be gruff and grumpy, but also incredibly cute. He finally decided to upgrade his ancient Nokia and wanted an iPhone 4 because a business associate had one. “It’s the only phone I’ve ever seen that makes sense,” he said.

This is a man who doesn’t use a computer and has never sent an SMS. He teases my mother about her Facebook addiction. He doesn’t quite understand what my husband and I do for a living.

Yet I’ve never felt more proud of my Dad than when he sent me this yesterday:

We have a winner!

After much deliberation and some amazing whisky stories that made me and my fellow judge laugh and go “aww”, we have a winner of the Whisky Live tickets and a bottle of Highland Park – Claudine du Toit!

I’m a romantic soul at heart and also want more women to get into whisky, so Claudine cinched it. Although I must give an honourable mention to Mark Stacey and AJ Nel, who are obviously both very passionate about their ‘water of life’.

Here’s Claudine’s story:

“My dad drank whiskey and whisky when I was growing up so I always knew what it was. I tried it with soda a few times, but I couldn’t get a taste for it and so, disregarded it as “an old man’s drink”. Years ago, a group of us decided to do a road trip through Scotland. There was one rule – you may only drink whisky or water. For the entire trip I swallowed the drink and didn’t say a thing, this was the land where it all began. We stopped at distilleries, we tasted the well known great names and had a jolly time. I followed up this trip by travelling to Dublin and tasting the Irish version, whiskey. I had to admit that it was growing on me, but I was still not convinced that this was truly the “water of life”. At this stage I decided that my dad couldn’t change me, Scottish highlands and Dublin pubs couldn’t convince me and whiskey would never be my drink of choice.

Then came along this young man who blew me away, knocked my socks off and turned my world around. We lived on a game reserve and he was a game ranger. As part of his attempt to get me to say yes to dating him, he promised me a romantic sunset game drive. I agreed and off we went. Bathed in a golden light, the bush glows as the sun is about to set and Mr Rugged Ranger stops the vehicle. I expected champagne to be popped then slowly sipped as the sun disappeared. Not this man! He has a tradition that would stand regardless of what Cosmopolitan magazine says – he reveals a bottle of whiskey. He brings out two glasses, adds three blocks of ice to each and then pours in a generous amount of golden liquid. Unplanned, but perfectly timed, we heard the lions begin to vocalize in the distance. “Slante” he said and we clinked our glasses, “to Africa, to life and always having a whiskey in your hand”. I smiled, took a sip and sat back to watch the sunset. That was the moment I knew that I would marry that rugged ranger. That was also the moment I realised just how good whiskey can be. Now, it’s become my drink of choice and it’s the way we celebrated when he popped the question this year. (Obviously, “rugged ranger” will join me for the whiskey night).”

Sex & Sickness

After a trip to the hospital that was less Grey’s Anatomy and more Nurse Jackie, I spent the past week in bed not doing anything interesting except annoying my husband with a nagging cough. Apparently there are degrees of bronchitis and it doesn’t “just go away”.

I believe bed is for fun and sleeping, not convalescing, which is why in my sneezing, sniffing, stomach-crunching coughing misery I still felt vaguely amorous. Maybe it’s that whole affirmation of life thing. I certainly felt like dying.

Anyway, these thoughts were crossing my pharmaceutical-addled brain when a courier arrived with the latest Women’s Health and Men’s Health Sex Issues plus lots of libidinous treats (nuts, chocolates, coffee beans).

Sexy medicine

It was a sign really, and a wonderful distraction from the pity party I was throwing myself. Even though I felt like the ugliest, most disease-ridden being on the planet, I would be fit, healthy and have sex again!

After eating the nuts and reading WH, I definitely perked up a bit. A long hot bath and layers of moisturising cream later, I took my medicine and made peace with this damn sickness, giving my husband a big kiss when he got home.

Of course, I forgot that the pill doesn’t work when you take antibiotics. I also dreamt I was pregnant. Fuck.