Chatter box with Sarah-Kate Lynch
An uninvited furball is not Sarah-Kate’s purr-fect guest
I
know some humans manage to be both dog and cat people, but my foot is firmly in the former. I can’t help it. I’ve just never had much luck with felines. Desperate for a kitten as a kid, we finally got one from the SPCA only for it to spend its life hiding under the house, in the bush or biting and scratching at the hand that tried to feed it. What can I say? I took it personally. And I’m allergic. What’s more, I think cats actually like that. Our house has been a cat-free zone in the 21 years we’ve had dogs. But we’ve been without a canine for 18 months now and the neighbourhood moggies are staying to take the mickey. I see them, out there sitting around like they own the place.
Home truths
I
with Kate Hawkesby
t’s empty-nest time for many around the country as kids head off to uni and set up their new lives in their new little parts of the world. And that includes us. We shed three family members in a week. I think that’s less “leaving the nest” and more having it ripped right open. There are only two remaining children at home. One has gone overseas to study, one to the South Island to study and one went flatting. Boom! Gone! Did we cry buckets and lament the quietness of the house? Actually, no. We were thrilled to see them on their way. Thrilled to see them chasing their dreams and heading off into the world. Thrilled to watch them set off to conquer all the challenges
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FELINE PECULIAR
Woman’s Day
If only they knew that the ghost of Ted, the Kerry blue terrier, is salivating in his grave. Oh, shoot, that reminds me. He isn’t in his grave. He’s salivating in the cupboard in the spare room along with Kit, his predecessor. Anyway, both dogs were holy terrors with cats, which despite my own ambivalence I did not encourage or admire. In fact, we spent a fortune training Ted in particular out of chasing the balls of fluff. I remember once the little horror spotted a cat and jumped out of the car before I could get him on the leash. He ran across the road, up a driveway, into the backyard then across three other properties until I caught him. Red-faced, I retraced my steps and fell on my sword, offering
apology after apology to the owner of the driveway and house until I finally realised what he was trying to tell me. “It wasn’t my cat.” Oops. Regardless, Ted was literally on a short leash after that but whenever he saw a cat, he would squeak with longing and quiver with the lack of excitement at being able to pursue his terrier heart’s desire. So, today I was walking down the hallway when I saw through the window in the front door, the biggest, fluffiest grey cat striding down the driveway towards our house. I opened the front door expecting it to take flight, but it didn’t. Instead, it just stared at me as if to say: “And …?” Just then a bunny hopped across the drive, bold as brass,
between myself and the cat. I looked at puss. “You could’ve at least got the rabbit!” I said. At which the superior being gave me one last withering look, turned on its heels and sauntered – I say, sauntered – back down the drive with an arrogant flick of its tail. If that doesn’t say it all about cats, I don’t know what does. Although to be fair, Ted wasn’t much chop when it came to getting rid of rabbits either, although he liked to feast on their poo on occasion, which did nothing for his breath. But a rabbit doesn’t have attitude. A rabbit doesn’t taunt a less intelligent being into coming for it. A rabbit’s simply not worth the bother. Like it or not, cats rule.
SILVER LINING
Kate finally has some room for her shoes of starting up afresh outside of the family cocoon. Thrilled that they’ll now be buying their own food. I’ll admit I had one teeny-tiny wobbly moment as I stood in my son’s empty bedroom and thought how vacant it looked. But that was quickly replaced with excitement as to what I could do with that room now. “You can’t come back,” I told him when he called from his new flat, “because I’ve turned your bedroom into a shoe room.” “A whole room just for shoes?” he quipped. “Well, it’s kind of got other bits and pieces and storage-type stuff in it too – it’s actually super useful and it doesn’t smell like Lynx Africa any more, so I love it,” I enthused. That’s the fear for liberated
empty nesters – that somehow at some point, the kids will boomerang back. It’s happened before. My son went flatting once before and came back. This time I said he has to stay away. It’s for his own sake, I tell him, for the independence (and also for the sake of my shoes). Uni kids have less of the empty-nest vibe because they bounce back and forth for holidays, so it doesn’t feel too final … yet. And we do have the added distraction of the two left at home. To be fair, when the baby leaves I’ll be a mess. I’ve told her she’s not allowed to ever leave home, or indeed even grow up, but she’s ignored that so far. I said that when and if she leaves home to go study overseas, I’ll just come with her.
“No thanks,” she flippantly replied. “It’s not really cool to take your mum with you to uni.” She dashed my dreams with a withering eye roll. So until she goes, we’re coping pretty well with seeing our kids off into the world. The fridge stays full for longer, there’s less laundry, I feel like the house doesn’t need as much vacuuming. The worry doesn’t go away, though. As a parent you still lie awake at night hoping they’re feeding themselves properly, that they’re alright, that they’re happy and safe and well. You still think of them as tiny wee things, even though they’re not. But they need to find their way, so all you can do is hope they’ve had enough instilled into them in the early years … and that they’ll be OK.
