Hot and Cold

Yesterday was so cold, our old boy came huddling up to me all trembles and shivers. I put the fire on and sat us both down next to it, wrapping him in my thickest cardigan, shaped like a little feline Yoda. He didn't resist or try to shrug it off, and we sat there a long time, me staying put because he's pretty blind and I feared he might stumble in too close to the flames by accident. Once the central heating had impacted everything, it was totally different and he was just fine, though I found myself wishing wistfully for Spain. I like Scotland and can't imagine ever moving back to England (London being the only exception I can think of) but suddenly I saw Spain, and it occurred to me that my little lad would not be shuddering there.

We are going to Granada some time this Spring. I want to see Mum, though I dread it for fear she may catch something from me. But the risk must be taken or we may never meet again. I haven't told her or she'll spend the next few months freaking out and trying to persuade me not to do it due to her latest plague of preference. I don't think R has seen Andalucia at this time of year; whenever we're there it's boiling. He's been to the Alhambra a couple of times, but we never get round to the Generalife, at its most delectable in high summer, where the neverending presence of water and beauty slakes parched minds. The Alhambra I wish to visit because I always do; my dream is to see it in snow, though it's stunning whenever. But the big deal this time, I think, may be a trip into the Sierra Nevada, to do a little Spring trek, maybe even visit Whimsey in her mountain fastness. Mum won't join us, of course, because she stares blankly at any suggestion of actually leaving the city, but we can come back and find her in the evening and she can berate us on the folly of going anywhere that doesn't serve tapas. Most of my time will be spent with her. As my foot improves, I suddenly crave the land of goat herds and almond trees and crumbly tracks that lead one into the inexorable mountains. There may yet be snow on the peaks when we go. I am fortunate to have the romance of Spain and Scotland woven through my life, my self. It grows lovelier, despite the extremes of temperature.

And today, a little heated blanket should be turning up for poor Pusscat, though everything's a bit warmer today. I hope he makes it to Summer. There are few more wonderful sights than an old cat sleeping in the sun.