December 21, 2016

The Winter Solstice in 2016 was memorably observed by the author of the blog Spitalfields Life. He has a special genius for recalling many things lost or soon to be lost. Here he talks about his cat, Mr Pussy.

"It is Midwinter’s Day, and tonight – the longest night of the year – Mr Pussy will not stir from the chimney corner. Warmed by the fire of burning pallets, he has no need of whisky to bring him solace through the dark hours, instead he frazzles his brain in a heat-induced trance. Outside in the streets, Spitalfields may lie under snow, the paths may be coated in sheet ice and icicles may hang from the gutters, but this spectacle holds no interest for Mr Pussy. Like the cavemen of ancient times, his sole fascination is with the mesmerising dance of flames in the grate. And as the season descends towards its nadir in the plunging temperatures of the frozen byways, at home Mr Pussy falls into his own warm darkness of stupefaction.....

"Once Mr Pussy was a wild rover, ranging over the fields in Devon, disappearing for days on end and returning proudly with a dead rabbit in his mouth. Now he does not step beyond the end of the alley in Spitalfields and in these sub-zero temperatures only goes outside to do his necessary business. Sprinting up the stairs, and calling impatiently outside the door of the living room, he is ever eager to return to the fireside and warm his cold toes afterwards, sore from scraping at the frost in the vain attempt to dig a hole in the frozen earth...

"And be assured, Mr Pussy can still leap up onto the kitchen counter in a single bound. He can still bring in a live mouse from the garden when he pleases and delightedly crunch its skull between his jaws on the bedroom floor. If I work late into the night, he will still cry and tug on the bed sheets to waken me in the early morning to see the falling snow. When the fancy seizes him, he can be as a sprightly as a kitten. Come the spring, he will be running up trees again, even if now – in the darkest depth of winter – he only wants to sleep by the fire.

"Alone here in the old house in Spitalfields tonight, Mr Pussy is my sole companion, the perfect accomplice for a writer. When I take to my bed to keep warm while writing my stories, he is always there as the silent assistant, curled into a ball upon the sheepskin coverlet. ..."

Spitalfieldslife.com is one of the best blogs on the web. Its author is intent on preserving the memory of an older England, and older London, with intelligence, and gentleness. Mr Pussy has died now, and our author is preparing a book about him, utilizing I assume, the many posts in which he figured. I will buy it.