A first day with come creativity yesterday; refined a few poems and spent a few hours recording the piano parts to a song, The Self-Isolation Blues.
Mum dusted the room in a manner which had echoes of the Steptoe and Son episode where Albert burned all of Harold's clothes. She wanted to wipe everything down with vinegar and water. I said that isn't effective against coronavirus (or probably any), that bleach and water, or pure alcohol is recommended, so I made a 100% isopropyl alcohol spray to wipe things down. Actually, already useful for my monitor and my, as yet unused, spectacles. I thought of adding a dash of hydrogen peroxide to make it more powerful, and realised that this mix (when pure) was the formula for rocket fuel in the 40s and 50s.
A rough black cat, something of a local hobo, entered the garden. Apparently, our cat, simply named 'Cat', was kicked out of her home, our garage, by this cat on the previous night. We found Cat in October 2003. Mum and I were walking home after a shopping trip to Tesco and heard a desperate meowing. A tiny kitten was on top of the railway bridge on Mill Street, meowing right at us. There were no other pedestrians, as usual, just a stream of unfeeling cars. I coaxed the kitten down and grabbed her. She struggled and free from my arms and darted into the road, causing a car to emergency stop. I grabbed the kitted again, more firmly. She continued to loudly and constantly meow. We took her to the vets on Edleston Road as we walked home, still also carrying shopping bags. The vet gave her a check up and said she was healthy and about six months old. She wasn't micro-chipped. He noted her description in case anyone asked about her.
We took her home, buying a tin of cat food on the way. Mum said not to give her too much, she was clearly starving and in danger of gulping down too much. In the end she ate almost a whole tin. We kept her in for a few days, gradually allowing her to explore, then explore the garden, and soon she was ours. We each had different name ideas; mum liked to call her 'Moto' after the 'Hello Moto' advertising slogan for Motorola phones. I had too many ideas. Officially, for veterinary reasons, her name is Suzie but she's always just 'Cat' here and responds to it each time with a meow. She was always rather talkative, and anxious about being left on her own.
Exactly a year later, October 2004, was the month I painted my first ever painting, the start of my life as an artist, so I've always considered Cat a partner, a spirit-guide if you will, of my artistic journey. She is 17 now, about 60 in human years, and getting too old to do some things like climb stairs. At this time of human anxiety and great turmoil, she is of course oblivious, instead enjoying the coming spring. Her primary concern would be the presence of that other cat. If she is perplexed at the apparent silence of these empty streets, she doesn't show it.
I always feel a little on edge, but after a relatively calm day, I became more anxious last evening, perhaps because my mum wanted to eat in the same room as I, and I'd prefer, for perhaps paranoid, biosecurity reasons to eat in a separate room. Deb remains at home. I wanted to see her and worried about whether it was the right thing to do, as the government is apparently telling people off for non-essential trips. What is essential? A times I feel at near-panic, and have an almost constant sense of vigilance. Some rest is essential. I went to see her and was pleased at the blissful, restful break. How heavenly a few months of isolation would be with her, or even alone. It's the presence of my elderly, 'at risk', parents in the home which makes me anxious.
Mum went out this morning, a cycle ride, and to some shops. The supermarkets have a '70s and over' hour, or something like it. It was apparently cram packed with people, itself, in my opinion, unsafe. Are the staff all over 70? Are they assuredly healthy themselves? It doesn't seem right. The safest option, I imagine, would be a steady stream of one or two people with two metre gaps between them.
She, by chance, saw Bogi, her twin sister, on the way home; also isolating herself. Bogi recommended the local shop instead, and that was empty.
I feel anxious now, a low level anxiety, an ever-vigilance. I know that this is due to the sentinel in me, the self-protective part of my psyche. It is giving warnings, which grow when ignored, and perhaps it gives too many, so that even if acknowledged these cause anxiety, like an engine of wheels, ever turning. Dali, yes, a motor which is always running. I try to spend time to deliberately, consciously addressing these anxieties, assuring my sentinel than I am aware of their warnings, thanking them, and assessing their concerns.
Now, I must try to do this, commune and conference with my worried cells, and start doing some creative work.
