I should say a little about Ted and just why he was so special, not just to us but why he was actually really special. He was, essentially, a failed genetic experiment; a cross-breed between a Tonkinese and a Bengal. They are two very individual types of cat and ordinarily never the two shall meet but in this case they did and Eddy was one of around only seven of the results. He was mischevous, inteligent, loud, obnoxious, unruly, destructive, loving, attentive, hilarious and utterly fearless. The latter characteristic is unfortunately what he will probably be best remembered for and also what proved to be his downfall.
We inherited Eddy from a couple of friends who lived in a London flat and were unable to keep him in such a restrictive environment. Eddy was a cat that needed the freedom to roam around and get into trouble, and he did just that in spades. Integrating him into a household that already included two other cats wasn’t easy but after a week or two it was if he’d always been there and the three became firm friends who fought with, loved, looked out for, played with, cleaned and cuddled up with one another.

Some people have never had a pet and will never be able to understand the pain that a person goes through when that pet is hurt, or worse still, killed. It’s almost 36 hours later and I still feel heartbroken, swinging periodically between fits of aching melancholoy and just feeling utterly numb and devoid of any kind of emotion. The house feels different somehow and I keep seeing things in the corner of my eye that I expect to be him. I already miss him jumping at the curtains, opening the cupboards by himself, climbing on the mantelpiece, leaping in the air, lunging at my face whilst high on catnip, jumping at the bathroom light switch, forcing his way through closed doors, sticking his tongue out when I scratched that specific spot behind his ears, chasing after us when we left the house and greeting us with his unusual meow. His passing has left such a terrible void in the house and in all of us.

Since it happened I’ve been through several scenarios in my head, unnecessarily torturous as it may be to do so. Initially I felt distraght and hysterical. Now I feel guilt for not being able to protect him. I feel angry at the person who hit him with their car. I feel bad for feeling angry as it was almost certainly an accident and could have happened to anyone. I feel grateful that I still have two cats. I feel sad that he was only alive for 18 months and will never grow old. I feel regret at not having taken more photos of him or given him more hugs when I had the chance. Mostly I just feel incredibly unhappy that I won’t get to spend anymore time with him.

I take some small comfort from the vets insistence that his death was instant and that the creature I saw on the ground, matted wet fur, rigid limbs, open mouth, wasn’t Eddy at all. It was merely his casing, his shell. The essence of what made Eddy Eddy had left hours previously and to the religious-minded, had gone to a much better place. When I think of him it’s difficult to push that horrific final image to the back of my mind but over time I’ll be able to forget it and replace it with images of the way we knew him; with boundless energy and a cheeky, curious demeanor.

Our remaining two cats sit around the house, unable to settle and seemingly take turns to look for their departed friend. It’s heartbreaking to watch but they, like us, will feel better over time. Working from home means that I spend the majority of my time with my cats and they’re equal parts loyal companions, friends and as-good-as family members. Lord knows, sometimes I would much rather spend my time with a cat than a human, they’re cuter, more forgiving, less judgmental and for the most part, are better for hugs.

I’ll miss Eddy forever but I’m so glad I got to know him. He was a special little chap and touched the hearts of so many other people (and animals) so his loss is a great one. I like to think that he was happy here and he certainly made us happy, no question at all. Most people will never get to meet a cat as great as Eddy so I feel fortunate that I knew him for this short time. 

Eddy, TedTed, Tedward, Edwardo, Teddybear, rest in peace and try not to cause too much trouble wherever you are now. You are absolutely irreplaceable and will be sorely missed.

I’ve started to notice, more and more, that when something good happens to someone I know, rather than the jealousy I might have felt when I was younger, I’m genuinely really happy for them and that makes me feel genuinely really happy in general.

I’m less interested about owning lots of ‘stuff’. These days it’s more about the simple pleasures. If you were to ask me what makes me happy, I’d more than likely reply with one or more of the following; a cup of tea, playing a computer game with Matt, fussing one of our 3 cats, a clean and tidy house, eating food that we’ve grown in our own garden, a pint of cider with a friend on a sunny day, going to the seaside, introducing a good film to a friend and having them love it too, a phone call from my folks, making new jewellery, seeing the people that I care about, however briefly. That’s what life should be about, less about wanting what you can’t have and more about enjoying what you’ve actually got. If I could apply that rule all the time I’d be extremely content just about all of the time but I think I’m on the right track at least….

These days I’d much rather stay at home and play computer games, or write, or bake, or play with my cats than go out and tear up the town in a boozy fashion.

I think it’s nice to be able to subvert peoples pre-concieved notions of me. A lot of people still see piercings, tattoos, occasionally weird hair (although not of late) and assume I must some kind of Satan-worshipping, heavy-drinking, white trash nobody that’s up to no good. Having children stare at me in abject horror is a personal favourite of some of the reactions I’ve had. When they learn that I like Spring fetes, high teas, antique shops and car boot sales, most are a little taken aback. I’ve always had a fondness for the twee and more genteel things in life but I’ve started to embrace it fully and succumb to the simple life of domesticity and pleasant routine since moving to Canterbury almost a year ago. I think it’s safe to say that I’ve found my spritual home. (Ugh, hippy twoddle. Gag me.)

I quit smoking though. Good Sarah. I have no idea how long it will last but it’s been almost four weeks so far which is awesome.

I’ve started seeing an acupuncturist, she’s a lovely French lady called Nathalie and she’s very good at sticking pins in me and making it relaxing. I couldn’t tell you if it’s worked yet but I’ve been trying super-hard not to be such a neurotic stress-bunny and I’m coming along quite well. Even Matt’s noticed an improvement.

My parents have been staying in Canterbury for the past week which hasn’t done my stress levels or my high blood pressure much good though. It’s been nice to see them but it’ll be nice to have my life back tomorrow. I think a week is too long to be in close proximity to the people that made you, however much you love them.

I’ve also been keeping clear of red meat, spicy food and alcohol. I feel a metric fuck-tonne better for it but I don’t think forced detox is the best way to go about it. If I’d done it off my own back instead of at the instructions of a health professional then it might not have been so painful. Still, I’m healthier, my skin is better and my mood is fantastic almost all of the time so I can’t complain too much.

My ramblings are never linear, have you noticed? I have a tendency to go off on an entirely unrelated tangent. Oh well….

My new website is coming along really well. We’ve bought the URL and the design is looking good so now Jamie and I just need to knuckle down and furiously write enough reviews to make it worthwhile going live. It’s quite nice to have my finger in so many proverbial pies though. One day I’ll take over the internet. One day.

Anyhow, I have a prawn salad waiting for me downstairs and I’m currently a thirteenth level Elf in Baldurs Gate so I’m going to nerd-it-up for a bit and leave you to your, most probably, full and interesting lives.

Peace.

People don’t seem to realise how bad something as simple as eczema can be. During the winter, it’s easy to ignore but as soon as the sun appears my body becomes an entirely more uncomfortable place to be. At the moment for example, every inch of me itches and it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to scratch the itch. Scratching causes swelling, rashes, scarring  but oh-so-sweet relief, if only for a second. I’ve been to several different doctors and specialists, none of whom seem to give a shit/know what they’re talking about/look at me as anything other than a hypochondriac. Last year my skin got so bad as the result of using a prescribed cream that I couldn’t move my joints and ended up in A & E where a slightly more knowledgeable doc gave me oral steroids.
See, that’s the other thing; the long term inplications of using oral and cream steroids. Underneath the make-up, my eyes are permanently red-ringed as a result of using Hydrocortisone. If I don’t, then my skin becomes unmanageable, unsightly and extremely irritating but if I do then I’m stuck with broken capilleries which make me look like I’ve lived a life of heroin and street-dwelling. Hello rock, Hello hard place. There are non-steroidal treatments but they are more costly and therefore no doctor I’ve ever seen will prescribe them because they’re told not to by the government.
The most disturbing thing is that as a result of using so much of the steroid cream to keep my eczema at bay, it’s become photosensitive which means that even five minutes in the sun leaves my skin looking and feeling horrendous for the next week or so. Sun makes it worse, sweating makes it worse, heat makes it worse, alcohol makes it worse, caffeine makes it worse, certain foods make it worse. It limits things. It means I often can’t wear pretty dresses like my friends or wear too much make-up because it either worsens the situation or makes it more obvious. These may sound like minor complaints but to a 26 year old woman who doesn’t have much confidence to begin with, it’s a very big deal.

If you know me well, you’ll probably already be aware of my eczema, if you know me a little you might wonder why this is the first time you’ve ever heard me complain about it. As far as social situations go, there’s still a stigma attached to skin conditions; they evoke reactions of disgust or trepidation. It’s not something I use as a conversation starter because I’m embarrassed about it, I wish I didn’t suffer from it and I want it to go away.

My Dad recently developed eczema and phoned me to apologise to me. He said he was sorry that he hadn’t taken my complaints and distress more seriously at the time and wished he’d been more sympathetic. It wasn’t until he experienced it himself that he realised just how much it can take over your life. The constant itching makes it impossible to concentrate on anything else and non-eczema-sufferers telling you to ‘stop scratching, you’ll make it worse’ just makes you want to punch something out of frustration. I’m still pinning my hopes on someone coming up with a cure or at least a better treatment, but I’m not holding my breath.

I hope none of you have a skin condition and I hope you never develop one but spare a thought for those of us that do, eh?

Also, today is the first day of replacing sugar with sweetener in my tea. This could be interesting…..

So, I got a new tattoo before Christmas. It was the biggest, took the longest to do and is the most meaningful piece of ink I’ve ever had done. A few people have asked me what the writing means so to set the record straight, it’s Italian and it simply means ‘New Start’. I’d had my mind set on it ever since moving to Canterbury because that, for me, was my new start. It turned out that due to the last 6 months of 2008 treating me like shit, it had a dual meaning. Seeing out the old, shitty year and welcoming the new, more promising one.

The list of problems I had goes on and on but to give a brief overview of the main ones; a friend of mine passed away and in the same week a friend of Matt’s also passed away; both of them in their twenties and both under tragic circumstances.  Our car then crapped out and we couldn’t afford a new one so it meant surviving without any transport for a while. My parents went on holiday and had their villa burgled. They lost a considerably amount of money but the real kicker was having my Mum’s camera stolen which contained all the pictures of their 5 month old kitten who was run over and killed a week after they got back. Towards the tail end of the year myself and Matt suffered out first real relationship crisis which I won’t go into but working through it will be a slow process for me.

I’m sure you can see why I was happy for the year to come to an end! Anyway, with the help of my friend and tattooist, the design really came together and after 5 hours it was on my skin for good. I’m hoping that it’ll inspire my more optimistic side whenever I see it

This was my original design:

This is the rough version that my tattooist came up with:

This is how it looked immediately after being done:

Suffice to say that I’m really fucking happy with the way it turned out. I’ll work on getting a decent photo of it now that it’s healed.

-Sarah.

I’ll apologise in advance for the mess of words that will no doubt follow. For some reason the things that whirl around my head are profound and garrulous and when they tumble forth from my fingers onto the page in front of me they’re, well, still garrulous but infinitely less important and quite nonsensical sometimes. That’s just the way my brain works I guess.

Anyway, here are a few things that I feel inclined to burden you with; 2009 is off to a rocky start. It’s not been awful but it hasn’t been wonderful either. Firstly, I kinda forgot about NYE and didn’t realise that it was even the new year until my Dad came in the room to remind me, interrupting my initial viewing of The Dark Knight in the process (not that my enjoyment of the film was hampered by that, I’m just trying to set the mood….). That doesn’t make it a bad start, it’s just kind of……apathetic.
Secondly, as soon as myself and Matt arrived on home turf in Canterbury, he ate some disagreeable takeaway and came down with a gruesome sickness virus, which he then kindly passed on to me. That was a fun way to spend a week.
Last weekend was spent celebrating two friends’ birthdays on consecutive nights which was simultaneously fantastic and horrible. It was fantastic because I got to see lots of people that I now consider great friends and drink and generally be merry but I also spent a small fortune, so you can see the dilemma.
Anyway, I shan’t bitch and moan about how crappy everything is because at the end of the day, the business is (surprisingly) still ticking over, my cat still loves me and I have a wardrobe full of pretty dresses. What more could a girl want? Well, a size 10 figure and Jay Baruchel locked in a cupboard for the purposes of cheering me up and making me go ‘awwww’ whenever necessary would be quite nice but I suppose I can’t have everything!

Anyway, to answer my previous question, I have no idea why typing things onto a pretty insignificant little blog helps but it does. I don’t feel quite as frightful as I did ten minutes ago. Now, I’m off to do the unthinkable and join a gym before I change my mind and eat the positively gargantuan chocolate bar that’s been giving me the eye since Christmas!

-Sarah.

I tried my best to get into the spirit of it all but fell somewhat short of the mark. I have a couple of opinions that I find it hard to let go of at this time of year. I’m not religious but I still find it a little sick that a Christian holiday has become solely about overindulgence, commercialism and oneupmanship. I also hate the fact that I feel obliged to spend a certain amount of money on presents for people when I can’t afford it and am worried what kind of state my finances will be in, in the new year. Thirdly, my Christmases usually involve me, my Mum, my Dad and my Mum’s parents. Dinner starts at 2pm and almost always consists of turkey that’s so dry you could use it as a shoe horn, we then open the presents, my grandfolks fall asleep listening to the Queens’ message and then we all have an early night. Excuse me for not being able to muster too much excitement then.

Anyway, I fear I’ve already started my blog on too pessimistic a note but I guess my boyfriend nicknamed me the Grump-motron for a reason. I’ll finish by admitting that it wasn’t all bad, I got some awesome presents, ate some amazing food and actually spent a lot of my time thinking about the more important things in life, rather than the niggling worries that I can’t do anything about. For me, I’d say that was a result! Next stop, NYE.

Smell you later, losers