Year: 2015

What Cats Teach Us About Boundaries, or… ‘what’s yours is mine & what’s mine is mine’

Sandra Love Letters , , , , ,

Number 15 out of 28; this piece is part a Blog Challenge to write and publish a post, every day of the 28 days of February 2015, from Sandra Peachey – the author of ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’.

George Tickets

“But I was only keeping them warm for you…”

One evening I was dashing around getting ready for a night out. I had been well organised and printed off the tickets I needed well in advance, and now I was ready to leave the house… I raced around looking in all the usual safe spots, but the tickets had seemingly disappeared… Finally I spotted them – they were on the sofa of all places; and in fact were ensconced under my cat George (quite rightly and safely, in his opinion). I grabbed the tickets out from under him, wondering if he was either – being helpful and pointing to them for me; he was trying to prevent me from leaving the cave and going out into the jungle; or he had simply taken possession of them…

Cats can be very possessive creatures… Leave your favourite jumper, or a pile of laundry, or a book, or any number of random objects lying around unattended, and next thing you know, a cat will be draped over it, probably feigning sleep. If you then dare to reclaim that particular possession, the un-felicitous feline will be righteously outraged and shall then invariably shoot you such a look of such distain and reproach, that the fact that you did not want your (own owned) object covered in mud and fur, is now rendered of absolutely no consequence. In short, they have hijacked what was rightfully yours and yet you are the one feeling mildly bad / slightly sad! Cats are clever like that…

That’s my humorous, human take on it of course, but really what I see with cats, is a constantly curious examination of and experimentation with the boundaries that surround them.

In amongst ‘The Pride’ that is composed of 3 cats and myself, there is an invariable pushing and testing of the boundaries that both tie us together, and characterise how we interact. And these interactions naturally happen in the human world too, and often will surface in the coaching work that I undertake with clients.

A case in point was one of my corporate clients. Several summers ago I was coaching a lady called Carol who had a high powered, professional job in a very male dominated industry. Her manager had suggested that she undertake a programme of coaching, so she had come to me and together we were working through a number of inter-related issues – which, as they do for so many of us, were inter-woven with her emotional history, her personal life and her work life.

Carol would come to my house once a week at 8.00 am, for a two hour coaching session, which would almost invariably be conducted in the garden, (or, as I like to refer to it, my ‘outside office’). As always Carol would be let in, greeted by the cats, select a flavoured tea (from the vast range that I provide) and then settle herself down at my garden table.

I remember how one particular morning we were discussing boundaries… Carol was working through some issues that she had with several work colleagues. It seemed as if there was a blurring of the boundaries in respect of who took charge, who took notice and how every one functioned as part of their team. As a result, there was a lot of verbal jostling and email jousting, as the various parties involved sought to stake a claim and make a point. It made for a stressful scenario, as people patrolled their power borders, trying to either take (or ignore) their own and other’s respective responsibilities.

As Carol and I worked through this, in the morning sun light, I was explaining my thoughts about boundaries and then, with perfect timing, my cats Taz and Sophia came racing through the garden. Taking no notice of the humans, they literarily screeched to a halt, feet away from our feet and started to scrap. The two of them turned in to snarling knot of fur, with paws, torso and tails, toiling and tumbling in their power play.

I was unconcerned – they do this a lot and neither hurts the other. Their tussles are combination of play and questing for dominance; questioning and pursuing who holds what place in the feline order of things. Play fight over, a new order is established, until the time comes to test it all over again.

For us suited and booted humans at work, it is also normal to test our boundaries, but we need a more solid approach, where colleagues understand and accept the boundaries that are set out – both formally in terms of reporting lines and duties, and informally, through daily interaction.

My duelling cats were neatly demonstrating what happens when challenges to other’s boundaries are made… Carol and I then took their skirmish and used it as a metaphor to draw comparisons with her work situation. We talked through being clear about our own boundaries and other’s, which then made dealing with the ‘border skirmishes’ that incurred into our own territories, easier. For Carol, gaining clarity on this became her own soft power, which meant that instead of individual rucks and retaliations, she now found that she could mentally step away and see the whole picture, not just her corner of it. And in doing so, she gained a greater perspective on dealing with each single situation, suddenly allowing them to become more simple and therefore far less consuming – in terms of time and emotional energy.

Corporate life has often been referred to as a ‘jungle’ and I could make many analogies about that here. Suffice to say that such analogies often emanate from animal type behaviour, yet we need to move beyond this, because that is just one dimension of who we are and what we do.

One of the many reasons that coaches have a place in today’s climate is because of the way in which the world of work is set up, in that we learn the nuts and bolts of our professions, the ins and outs of our tasks and we gain experience in our duties. However, so often we are not given a text book education about how to handle relationships (at work or other wise), how to best manage our thoughts and feelings, or indeed how to manage the every day politics of any of the worlds that we walk through.

And so, needless to say, I shall return to my cats. After their scrap, Taz and Sophia were next to be found sprawled out on the garden lawn, enjoying the sunshine and each other’s company. I watched as Taz suddenly grabbed Sophia’s head with his front paws, and instead of giving her a severe ‘licking’, gave her several lavish grooming licks instead. The gesture felt like another, finer, familial form of putting Sophia in her place, and yet she accepted it with delight and by purring out her pleasure in testament. This place in the order, she did not refute or fight.

I know which kind of licking I prefer…

PS: Real time writing… Due to a delicious piece of unconscious serendipity, I happened to bump into Carol just a couple of hours after I posted this blog… She introduced me to the new man in her life and then told him about her ‘coaching with cats’ experience. She said how loving and friendly the Pride are and how, especially at the beginning of our coaching time together, so often she would be feeling sad and that Taz, my fabulous feline teddy bear, would come to her and nudge her and give her a cat cuddle to cheer her up. She then went on to say that the coaching experience with me was “life changing” and that everything in her world had since changed – her job, her relationship, her home. She finished off by thanking me.

Even after all this time of sharing what I do with the world, I’m still a little uncomfortable with such blandishments, yet I have learnt to accept such gorgeous comments in good grace and also acknowledged in return that she was the one who had made the changes and turned her life around. And it was so lovely to see – she looked less tired and stressed; her energy was so much freer and happier. I don’t have a word for how that makes me feel, though the feeling is a curious blend of humble and proud. Proud, for me, and my coaching cats, of course…

PPS: Did you know that a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, cats and all?  I’m completely biased of course, but it makes a purrfect present, for you or the cat lover in your life… You can buy it from book websites any where in the world, including Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…

Cats – on Love, Life and Litter

Sandra Love Letters , , , ,

Cat Heart

So here I am writing a month of blogs and so far they have been cat themed – I am testing and trying out ideas for a new book – ideas for content, for tone, and inspiration…

Three years ago I set myself a blog challenge – to write a Love Letter to Life every day of that romantic month. I completed that challenge and my first book Peachey Letters was born. So that was a whole month of Love Letters – to many and varied aspects in my life. This time, I have only one preoccupation and that is a feline one. Just what can cats teach we humans about Love, Life and Litter? And so the calendar has wound round again to the 14th of February – Valentines Day, so here I am, once again, writing about love.

When it comes to cats and love, like everything else, they pretty much have the whole issue sewn up.

So how do cats do love? I guess the very first object of love is the mother and just like humans they are dependent upon a female adult to nourish them and start to teach them life’s lessons. Mother is the source of food and a warm furry belly to cuddle up to and fall asleep securely within those paw walls.

But the first real lesson in love we can divine is how a cat loves itself. Cats have an innate sense of contentment and care in just about every movement and moment of their lives. They are born with self assurance, which is nurtured by their mother, and reinforced by their fellow kittens. See how, from the earliest age a kitten takes care of itself – taking the utmost pleasure in licking, nipping and grooming its’ coat. Witness their closed eyes and concentrated demeanour and feel their satisfaction at a job well done, and their smuggery at being so beautiful.

To see a kitten or cat of any size, who is feeling secure and happy, at rest, is to witness a complete ease with their own body, and the soft sensual delight of stretching and curling in to endless tangles and poses that belie complete contentment.

Cats love their bodies, they enjoy their bodies, they take care of their bodies.

Whereas in a cat you will see a constant pleasure in the physical, with me it is a love hate thing. I glance in the mirror and see both good and bad. I see fat and I see ageing. Sometimes I see ugly looking back and me, and often I will see beautiful. And whilst I do not have the constant uncritical contentment in my body that a cat does, I do like to take care of this earthly temple that holds my soul. I exercise, I eat well, I rest, I prioritise my self care. In this way I really do think cat. Well… sometimes… sometimes I’m a couch potato, sometimes I eat wrongly or too much, but in being the head of the Pride I get to have more choice, I get to try and to push the boundaries, in all areas of my life; whereas my cats take a more tried and tested route – simple self love and contentment. In truth I am love with the blissful ease of simplicity, yet often I over complicate so many things in my life. There is, most definitely, a lesson in that…

So moving on from self love, why and how do cats give love? Now, much as I am a misty eyed lover of my moggies, I am also a realist. I know it all starts with cupboard love. I know that as the purveyor and opener of tins, pouches and packets, I hold the power. But I am not the only one who feeds the Peachey Pride. Whom so ever in that hungry moment feeds them, has their undivided and ravenous attention… And has, for those few gobbling minutes, their gratitude.

Then they’ve eaten and then they move on…

I, perhaps in a romanticised, self important way, like to think that food is just the starting point and that they also love to give and receive love and affection and in fact, demand it from me.

All my cats want to be stroked, petted and fussed, and they leave you in no doubt about what they want from you. You get head butted, kneaded, mewed at, stamped on and nudged. They want affection and are delighted to receive it, showing their pleasure as purrs – the ultimate expression of cat happiness.

As I have grown in age and wisdom I have got so much better at asking for what I want in love, yet always I can do more, think more cat…

I am not so blind as to think that I am the only human my cats will exchange such loving energy with. But it is from me that they demand the most affection, and in the happy repetition of giving and receiving of it, we form a bond, it strengthens our ties – and that is all part and parcel of how to love well.

As humans, I know that we have different ways of expressing, of giving and receiving love, and only some are about touch and affection.   As various as we two legged creatures are, there are different bonds that brings us together; there are different acts of love, and not just the obvious Valentine ones of roses, cards and chocolates. So, to love well, observe what gives pleasure and feedback and give those back, as your acts of love.

All of my cats love differently, all in their characteristic ways and they show me how to best love them – to be scratched just there – ah bliss! To be offered up a soft trusting belly to tickle, to be allowed onto a lap and also, at times to leave them alone, to let them have their own space, so that all in good order, there can be loving shared space.

I am getting better at asking for how I want to be loved. Just like my cats, I gravitate more naturally and spend time with those who see me and love me for who I am and who, in return show me that I am respected, liked and / or loved, in what ever context I will conjoin with them in.

Now in this regard, I am most definitely and most lovingly, thinking cat…

♥ Happy Valentines Day, to all two legged and four legged creatures, every where ♥

PS: Did you know that a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, cats and all?  I’m completely biased of course, but it makes a purrfect present, for you or the cat lover in your life… You can buy it from book websites any where in the world, including Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…

Cats and the Expression of Existential Angst

Sandra Love Letters , ,

As an early Valentine present, at the time of posting, the author of this blog – Sandra Peachey, published the gorgeous book ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ 2 years ago… To celebrate, the cost of the Kindle edition has been reduced to just £1.99 / $2.99 for 3 days starting from Tuesday 11 February 2015. At the time of posting there is just a few hours of this promotion left, before the book returns to it’s normal selling price of £6.00. For the UK click http://ow.ly/IRSbQ, for the USA http://ow.ly/IRTkK or check out your nearest Amazon site… And have a very Happy Valentines! 

cat angst

George, puss of this parish, sometimes stands at the top of the stairs in our house / cave yowling loudly, long and insistently… I mean really loudly, for a really long time and so, so insistently…

Why does he do this? I have several theories…

If I am feeling prone to anthropomorphizing and romanticising, I like to surmise that George is on old human soul, doomed to return to this corporeal world – shrunk down into feline form and clothed in coat of fur; locked into a new linear life where he tries to tell us that one act of mere magic will release him from this animal form, to be for ever free…

Or: George is a truly wise being, who understands everything; a creature who knows what we mere humans have no concept of – this being that we do not live out our full truth and joy, and in not doing so, we are doomed to pain; so on our behalf he eloquently expresses our suffering – swallowing in our sorrows and breathing them dissonantly out of his body, in his own free form of existential angst; cursing our condition and bemoaning the fate of the world…

Or: Something terrible has happened; there is clear and present danger and so he needs to warn us, to save us and for us to rescue him in return…

Or: He wants me to come up stairs and let him into the bedroom…

Speculation aside, it would seem that George has little to complain about… His needs are all met – since he has food, shelter and love. He has freedom. He is handsome. He was born with an instinctual and smug sense of self, of knowing his mind and living according to his whims and desires.

And still, he complains… What would he know??? Because, excuse me, but as the human Head of the Pride I’m the one with the hard life: I am the provider, the huntress, and the toiler. I am the one who lives a complicated, extricated, inter-woven life out there in the jungle, away from the sanctuary of our lion cave. I am the one who has to pay bills and do chores. It is my relentless remit to ensure that everything runs smoothly – that house work is done, that the garden is maintained. And not only all that, but I get sick sometimes too. And I don’t have enough help. It’s not as if a cat will help… “Make me a cup of tea” I will say to any one of my so called feline friends, and they just ignore me… I should be the one complaining…

OK, so I do complain – I get caught up in a dirge like drama of life’s treadmill and trammel, with a thousand and one dark thoughts, which, like marshalled moths, are for ever flying raggedly round and round a maudlin moon. And yet you, George, a pampered pet, are sounding your discord, your discontent, your cares, your worries and your demands.  But why, when you have it all so easy…

Well… there is that saying: ‘we all have a cross to bear’, I guess that I just can’t see the George Cross.

Instead I am caught in a constant cycle of negative thoughts, which means that I create a living reality of negativity; my very own well of wallowing hell, happening right here, between my ears… It is a vapid vortex which feeds and fattens itself on happenings in my word, on many things – tiredness, or the level of menopausal hormones rampaging through my system, or being middle aged; being crowded, being alone, being bothered, being blah, blah, blah…

At least George gets it all out of his system; instead of ruminating on his woe, he yowls and howls it out, and in doing so hurls it away; and then, all spent, he trots down stairs, back to me – to be adored, to fall asleep, to purr and so to move on.

I should take a leaf out of his book – and let it all go, let it out, then just move on.

And… I’m a coach – you know, one of those people who’s life mission it is to support others, to help them blast through blockages, make a difference, have what they want, be happy and fulfilled…  So I should have my shit together, not be flinging it around!

And suddenly I remember my mother… She would resentfully bottle things up over time; then out it would all come, the crap and capriciousness, loaded with complaints and caterwauls; slowly building up to a hissing head of steam, and then bang! She would explode, yelling and rampaging her frustration against… us, her life and the world… Oh, my mother… now I am an age when I sense I have somehow caught up with her, I really feel for her. She simply did not have the support, emotional education or resources to do any thing other than rail… And my heart aches, but that was her life lived. So of course I am my mother’s daughter, but still I am my own woman too. I understand the frustration and see the rage, and then I pull back, take stock, and strike to make a change.

The change is effected by the single biggest tool in my coaching box, and it is a gorgeously simple one – the constant practice of gratitude… I see the best, celebrate and give thanks for all that is in my life. I turn curses in to thank you’s. I pause to list things to be grateful for, sometimes through gritted teeth, but always with a determined positivity. Next I will list out: what I am and how I will be, on this day… ‘I am a coach; I am strong; I am a completer/finisher; I am energy; I am contentment; I am / I am / I am…’

And as for complaining, I turn that into coaching, and then turn to my own coaches too for support – to shine a light, to help me to spin back around to a more healthy sanity. And always, there is George – who comes to me and I stroke him, and the soft touch makes us both content, and he purrs – his own delicious declaration that all is well, for now… And now, for both of us is all that matters, this mini moment of happiness.

So, the next time George feels like yowling his furry head off, I could just join in, or I should just pick him up and cuddle him instead. And then neither of us would have any thing to complain about…

PS: Remember that there is a special Valentine Gift promotion on the book version of this blog! The cost of the Kindle edition has been reduced to £1.99 / $2.99 for just a few more hours (at the time of posting, Friday 13 February 2015). Happy Valentines from the author and her cats! For the UK click http://ow.ly/IRSbQ, for the USA http://ow.ly/IRTkK or check out your nearest Amazon site…

The Art of Blogging and the Sacred Science of Cats

Sandra Love Letters , , , ,

As an early Valentine present, at the time of posting, the author of this blog – Sandra Peachey, published the gorgeous book ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ 2 years ago… To celebrate, the cost of the Kindle edition has been reduced to just £1.99 / $2.99 for 3 days starting from Tuesday 11 February 2015. At the time of posting there are just two days of this promotion left, before the book returns to it’s normal selling price of £6.00. For the UK click http://ow.ly/IRSbQ, for the USA http://ow.ly/IRTkK or check out your nearest Amazon site… And have a very Happy Valentines! 

george - Kitten

George then – an impossibly pretty kitten

It’s Day 12 of my blogging journey… And I’ve finally decided to do some proper introductions… So you may like to do things in a 1, 2, 3 / A, B, C linear way, but I live in an anarchy of chaotic thoughts; so, instead in my own 7,5,1 / Z, W, B sort of a way, I let those thoughts fly, I capture them, then I let them lie and percolate… And then I come back to them, or not…

For some people blogs are rigorous, diarised outputs… Yet for me they are for splurges of free thought and feeling, which I can leave to float through the Universe until they bump into something or some one else…

Or… I can use them as a beginning – to later take them and make them into a super crafted whole, where I will edit and shape and give them a place in a more straitened structure, playing their part, a section in a chapter, now out of my head and waiting, patiently, to be slotted into a future grand scheme…

In this sense, they are an experiment. A testing and trying of ideas, and style.

And for me, more importantly, they are also an electronic letter to the world, (what ever that world may be composed of, or who ever it may be peopled by); replacing my lost (to time) love of pen and paper – of that reminisced crafting and weaving of news and musings, and the committing of them once and for all, to a for ever piece of parchment…

I remember, in times past, the nervousness of putting a ‘controversial’ letter into a post box, and I have experienced this in my more recent times when I started to blog – that scary second just before pushing the final ‘publish’ button; then to sit back and be damned, or damned with faint praise, or even, possibly praised, or even more likely ignored, or (I really suspected at the time) judged, or what ever else I might lay myself open to, when ever I share my stuff…

What actually came back (in those scary, early blogging days) was overwhelmingly positive, yet being a sensitive soul, what ever was negative stuck with me and tortured me for a while, until I processed the comments, then learnt their lessons; and found myself, ultimately smiling at ALL the feedback that I have received…

However, I digress! I promised you some late introductions, now that I am further than a third of a way through my February blogging challenge…

So I shall start by introducing George, and as I write this in real time, here is a picture of him, taking just now, sweetly sleeping…

Geo recumbent

George now – recumbent, right this minute

You may have to look closely, but there is definitely a cat in there, merged into slumbering obscurity, blending in beautifully with the surrounding softness of MY blanket…

I remember in perfect detail the day we first met… He was one of six male kittens, all of which were snoozing together, in an unbelievably tangled and cute way, in a large basket. One of the kittens had his head over the edge of the basket… and I knew, then and there, that he was the one…

They all stirred awake and I was introduced to them, one by one… but I knew… And I took him home with me that self same day…

Till that point in my life I had been living a conventional existence, working 9 to 5 (well 8 to 7 actually…) in a professional, corporate role, and yet was starting to flirt with the thought of living my life in a different way.

George came to me just months before I started a new phase in my life, one where I have experimented with life and work and writing and coaching, and in doing so being more of myself (cliché alert). So he has literally been with me (I’m actually not afraid of clichés), on the ‘journey’ – my feline friend and helpmeet, and in many senses, a fur covered guru…

He was the most beautiful kitten in every way, with an easy, sweet and friendly nature. And despite the fact that I was, at that time living with a partner who worked at home, and I worked out there – in ‘the jungle’, leaving my kitten behind for long, long hours, George had decided, from day one, that without any doubt, that I was ‘his’…

His ‘what’ has long been debated between us… As far as I am concerned, I am the head of the Pride, and I will be harmoniously and unconditionally obeyed (she stated in megalomaniacal tones).

Now I have heard it said, that in urban legend, a dog regards you as his master, whereas a cat regards you as his parent. Yet I am, quite frankly, at this middle aged stage in my life, rather embarrassed to be known as a cat’s ‘mummy’.

So to elucidate and (quite frankly) to grossly generalise – just in case you are not a pet person: Have a cat or dog in your female life, and you are nearly always referred to, in the third party idiom of pet owners, as the animal’s ‘mummy’. Not an owner, nor a mum, not a mother, no – a mummy…   This language tick emanates from a whole, latent sub culture of baby talk based pet dialect. As I am not a scholar on such issues, I cannot tell you from whence it arose, simply that it is one of those latent linguistic phenomena, that is…

So I have evolved a new word for the relationship that I have with my cats – I am, (Oxford English Dictionary 2016 edition please note), the ‘hu-mamma’ – the responsible human / adoptive parent / head of the pride.

In my new definition, therein lies a dictionary difficulty… The word mamma is insinuated there, a more (I like to think) charismatic version of mummy. A stronger, more cosmopolitan statement of the position that I hold in my cat’s lives. Not a baby-fied, mummified personage, but a blend of care taker and leader. I position myself as the Chief Cave Lion, lazily and effortlessly in command of the family group; and the ultimate hunter (I go forth into the ‘jungle’, hunt, and then return with slayed pouches and boxes of cat food for them). Fundamentally, I advertise myself as ‘she who roars and must be obeyed’.

Maybe I don’t roar enough, or maybe I have done it too much over our 8 plus years together, but now George has grown, and has met and matched me in middle age, he clearly and constantly demonstrates that we should at least be equals (on a good day), or in fact that I am in actuality, a soft inferior, put in place in his cave to provide food and adoration and a soft stomach to purr on.

Like all relationships, the one I have with George ebbs and flows from moment to moment. It is clear that of all my cats he is the one closest to me, preferring and purring to be constantly by my side and taking a keen interest in all I do around the cave. When I meditate he likes to join in. When I have coaching clients around, he takes a keen interest, watching these precious people working through their stuff and acting as an emotional indictor of what is going on within. He will stand aside when there is confusion, and he will gravitate towards the client who demonstrates clarity, rubbing and purring his royal approval.

Oh, and speaking of indicators, did I mention that George is a ‘pointer’ cat? I discovered this one day when I had a new visitor to the home. George as always, graciously introduced himself to her. I then wondered aloud where my cat Taz was, so that we could effect that introduction too. It was a warm day and so George sauntered out into the garden and over to a bush, under which my beautiful black cat Taz lay, smoothly snoozing the summer away.

A few months later Easter came around and I had hidden a cache of chocolate eggs around my garden for a friend’s two children to find.

In their excitement the children did not see that George had walked up to and sat by all the eggy hiding places, one by one, in turn. Instead they shrieked and scrabbled through the under growth and found all but one egg hidden away, all by themselves. Frustrated at not being able to find the last egg, they started their round of the garden again; parting and peering through armfuls of foliage and a bounty of bushes, all to no avail…

I eventually relented and told them that George held the clue, and sure enough, there he was, posed and poised roast chicken style, pointing at where the final egg lay, out of sight of super excited children.

So there it is… much as I try to exert my gentle dominance, George actually knows that he is the one in charge. He clearly points the way to greater treasures in life, if I would but acknowledge that so called sacred fact, and take due, diligent note. George, of course, knows the score, he has life licked, in many and various ways. If I take the time I can learn so much from his confidence, his insouciance and the easy way in which he loves himself greatly, and so has the source and strength to love me on, in spades, paws and purrs.

You see, as much as I would ascribe to my self the title of head of the pride, George actually knows that he is in fact, undeniably, indisputably the actual Head of the Peachey Pride.

PS: Remember that there is a special Valentine Gift promotion on the book version of this blog! The cost of the Kindle edition has been reduced to £1.99 / $2.99 for just 2 more days (at the time of posting, Thursday 12 February 2015). Happy Valentines from the author and her cats! For the UK click http://ow.ly/IRSbQ, for the USA http://ow.ly/IRTkK or check out your nearest Amazon site…

Love Letters, Books and Blogs…

Sandra Love Letters

heart feb 15

As I start to write this, my mind has decided to go blank, sit back and go on strike, bless… So where to start..?  

Today I’m sharing all the latest on my writing exploits, and also my coaching and consulting biz – LifeWork.

My consultancy I’m delighted to say, is thriving and is bringing in lots of corporate work.  And as well as working with large organisations, I’m passionate about supporting small and medium sized businesses too, so do get in touch for a no obligation check up and catch up, if you would like to discuss how we could work together to turn your dreams and plans in to realizable ‘doings’ – both to build a successful business and to have the best possible life.  As a LifeWork Coach, you see, I believe that for most of us, the 2 are not indistinguishable and I work with my clients to integrate all aspects of their existence, for the best possible outcomes. And even better, my clients get to choose what those outcomes are.

As well as ‘LifeWork’, I’m taking some deliberate time during this February to focus on my writing. I have several started manuscripts for books and have needed some momentum to turn those ideas into realities.  Do you ever experience this too – i.e. having a great idea and yet doing little or nothing about it?

What works for me is if I commit publically to my plans and ask for support.  That’s how my first ever book came about – I started a blog challenge, to write a ‘Love Letter to Life’ every day for the Valentine month of February. It was an amazing experience, I got so much positive feedback and out of that, came my first book ‘Peachey Letters ~ Love Letters to Life’.

Peachey Letters

I published Peachey Letters two years ago on the 14th of February and so it is time to celebrate – both my anniversary and of course Valentine’s Day 2015 too!

In honour of this occasion, the Kindle edition of my book has been reduced to just £1.99 for the 3 days leading up to Valentine’s Day – i.e. the 11th to 13th of February.  Here is the link to Amazon uk, where you can download my heartfelt offer.  Please enjoy, with my love xXx

A Month of Blogging

And so, on to the next book!  Since February is clearly my month for starting projects, once again I am posting a new blog, every day for the month of February.  You will see that I am currently playing with the idea of a book on what Cats Can Teach Us About Life, so am sharing my lessons in ‘love, life and litter’ with the world at large, be they cat lovers or not… I’d love to know what you think – the feedback I have already received, has been so helpful…

In my life’s lessons, one of the interesting ones of being an author, was that sitting down and writing my daily blogs was actually quite a lonely experience. I was determined that when I did this again, I would do it differently, and so I am delighted to share that 5 wonderful women bloggers have joined my on this journey and have all committed to blog through the month too (some daily, and some ad hoc).

I’d be delighted if you would check out all the beautiful blogs in our writerly enclave, from…

Vicky Stanton on being organised…
Michelle Attias on getting the best out of your business…
Linda Curtis on making the most of life…
Jane Hurd on making the most of gardening and eating…
And Patricia Cherry on weight management…

We’d all love your comments and support to get us to the end of February, to help us all get loads of blogs each under our respective belts!

So that is us… What is going to challenge YOU this February, with Spring soon promised and new horizons beckoning?  I created a challenge that completely suited me, my talents and goals, whilst also stretching my perceived limits… At the end of it I was rewarded with my book Peachey Letters.   And what, I wonder, would best challenge you? In work, in life, in ???  I am curious to know… So please share…

With the 14th of February just a few days away, I will finish off by wishing you all the love, strength and support you truly deserve, for this fine Valentine time.

With love, books and blogs…

Sandie

Sandra Peachey – Director of LifeWork and Author of Peachey Letters

What Cats Teach Us About Life: Are Relationships Natural?

Sandra Love Letters

IMG_0058

Sophia trying to quietly impress ‘uncle’ George

One of the many things that I am, is a social gad about – I love meeting new people… To get to know them, to share their similarities and quiz them on their quirks… And once that is accomplished, I will walk away, head for home and then roll a large rock over the entrance way to the Cave that the cats and I share (or in plain English – shut the door)…

As I have crawled, toddled and walked through life I have amassed family, acquaintances, colleagues and friends; and I am happy that some stay in my life and that some are passing through (for minutes or for years). All is in natural order.

I will always return home – to the silence and space that belongs to me and the people and creatures that a mixture of choice and fortune have decreed up on me.

And in amongst the weaving ways that make up the cloth of my life, cats have long been threaded through, from childhood until now, adding depth and colour and love to the fabric of my being.

Funny how I find now, in this middle stage of life, that I am no longer a social butterfly, who wants to flutter every where, sip at every flower and fly in pretty circles over summer day buttercup fields… Now I have slowed down, my home cave has become a multi purpose, multi dimensional place of domicile, office, sanctuary and thinking post.

And the cats of the Pride, saunter and skitter and insinuate themselves throughout all these activities.

When I moved into this particular cave, George and Taz came with me, both as young adults. George and I have been together since he was tiny and a year later Taz loped into our lives, a semi grown kitten cat. George, you understand, would far rather be an only cat, but he begrudgingly accepted Taz, who couldn’t care a fig about anything, as long as he is fed and loved and then left to his independent devices.

When the boy cats reached their middle age and we were all nicely settled in our respective ways I decided to bring a third cat into the mix. There were lots of reasons for this, not least that I thought how sweet it would be to have a kitten in our lives that we could all baby…

Bless my naiveté… or curse my lack of fore thought…

After a long search I found a creature that fitted my brief – a friendly, sweet, female kitten, who would be the ideal and accepted counterpoint to the older cats.

I found Sophia via a cat charity. I met her at her foster home and then had to pass a domestic assessment. Having seen her for the first time, she was clearly beautiful and seemed to have an even, shy temperament, but suddenly I got cold feet and changed my mind. Two cats was surely enough… I forgot to cancel the home assessment visit however, but still, I would explain that now wasn’t the right time. Well… the Cat Inspector came to the cave and she came with a (travel) cage that contained Sophia. She didn’t inspect, she opened the cage door instead and Sophia flew out and ran squealing up to sleeping and unsuspecting George.

So suddenly it was all a done deal! In a daze I signed the paperwork and bade the Cat Inspector good bye. Then I dashed out of the house to buy kitten food and new feline paraphernalia, leaving the cats of the newly enlarged Pride to introduce and fend for themselves.

A text book introduction of a new cat into a home with other moggy incumbents is to section off a quiet, safe place and keep the kitten there. Then gently introduce the other cats and let them get used to the scent of the interloper and the knowledge that they are near, but not a threat.

All textbooks were ditched out of the window, as the new comer careered around the home, desperate to be friends with the adult cats and being rejected instead, being scratchy and naughty and some how being noisily every where, at once.

Taz and George did not take kindly to having a feline stranger in their home. It was a huge adjustment for all of us.

Sophia had been a rescue kitten, found in a sofa in someone’s garden and had not been socialised with humans until she was several weeks old. This possibly explained her lack of social graces and her frequent anti social / dirty actions… I had to throw some of my furnishings away and replace them with clean, kitten proof ones… She didn’t obey instructions and hated being picked up, preferring to yowl and wriggle away.

The male cats fled the house and I would rarely see Taz except at meal times. George hates to be parted from me, but even so, would spend no longer than an hour in the same room as Miss Sophia.

Sophia was unwittingly trespassing in our cave and upsetting the rhythms and routines we had gently carved out in our cave over time.

Just as I like to have a refuge, George and Taz had had theirs suddenly taken away from them. Just like me, they like to socialise, but on their own terms and that means being able to pad away when we feel like it too.

I was so tempted to send Sophia back to the cat charity. But instead I persisted, I adjusted, I created boundaries, I repeated lessons, and I used patience and love in abundance, with all my cats. I kept Sophia out of certain rooms in the house, so the big cats could have their space. And over time, without my even knowing it, we all grew into each other and accepted each other, without force or push, just gradually evolving together.

This morning I picked Sophia up for a cuddle and she nuzzled into me and purred joyfully. Even though she has now been with us for 18 months, I can’t quite get over that she willingly allows this close physical touch… The rules are that if she doesn’t want to be handled then I let her go. And we are so much happier now because we accept Sophia’s ways too – learning that you never approach her, you allow her to come to you instead…

And, after months of growls and hisses and swipes from her uncles, Sophia is now rewarded with their constant company and even the occasional grooming lick… It is, in our world, the ultimate cat accolade.

Sophia truly is my little sweetheart now, and I’m glad that have I learnt, yet again, what some boundaries along with a whole lot of love and patience can achieve, in any relationship…

What Cats Teach Us About Life: Self Care is a Necessity, not a Luxury

Sandra Love Letters

George in Blankie

I’m working away today at my sofa cum office, and as always my cat, faithful friend and ‘colleague’ George is with me.

Well actually he is curled up on a gorgeous furry throw that I festoon my sofa (cum office) with. It keeps out any winter chill, is comfy to snooze under, and is just a coddling comfort of a cover when I feel like I want a little sweet softness in my life.

And it may be a ‘throw’ to you, yet to me it is my ‘blankie’, and I love, love, love it!  My blankie is a caress of comfort enveloping me, making the corporeal me less real.  It is softness defined into a loving square of comfort and joy, of pride and possession, my very own selfish delight, wrapping and binding me as a gift. When it is draped and shaped around me, I become a cosseted new me, yielding and melting and slowed…

That is, when I get a look in. If I do not rigorously fold it up and put it away after use, it immediately gets pounced upon and claimed. All the cats adore it, but George as always thinks that he has first dibs… In fact just this morning, I stood up and walked away from my sofa / office for a few minutes and let my lonesome blankie drop to the floor. I returned to find George somehow curled up on, and entangled in it, and so I vainly tugged at it to find a free corner that I could at least cover my cold toes with…

When I’m away, my house mate unfolds the blankie and lays it on the sofa so the cats can pick up my scent and find some comfort during my absence. They all knead and purr and pour over it.

Not that cats really need a blankie to find comfort. Cats are in fact true artisans when it comes to the practice of self love. They practice comfort and joy continually and naturally; where as, I, who claims to be head of the Pride, has to constantly engineer it and plan for it and partake of it, unnaturally…

So what is ‘self love’?  It is in thought about loving yourself; and in deed about taking care of yourself – and no, not we are not talking about the rude connotation that may just be running through your mind, right about now… I’m talking about ensuring that you have enough comfort and joy in your life, to sustain your life. That you think kind thoughts of yourself and give that same self ‘time out’ and treats. That you take time to slow down and to sleep enough and to do the things which make you truly happy – not run around giving yourself away and getting completely exhausted in the process.

Self love here can be reading a chapter of a gorgeous book, through to the ubiquitous spa break – it doesn’t have to have a budget and should certainly know no boundaries.

I’ve just lifted my eyes away from my words for a few seconds and I can see my cats in view, and all are sleeping, (George is next to me, Sophia is draped over the arm of our shared sofa and Taz is cutely snoring on the other sofa), they all look so comfortable and happy. And no one gave them permission to do that, it is natural to them, it sustains them, it gives them pleasure to share their slumbers and the company of all members of the Pride.

Cats have mastered the craft of relaxation and I really could do with learning a little more from them about prioritising it in my own life.  The truth is that comfort is something I truly adore, yet I find that I frequently eschew it, when I should be ardently pursuing it.

If I think more ‘Cat’ then I need to expand my (self) loving horizons, to build self love and comfort into the fabric of my every day life, rather than as a rare, planned for treat.

Now your idea of self love may be different, but mine is a long loving variety of different delights, starting with a hot drink, a glass of wine, a chunk of chocolate … the kiss of loving, warming food.  Comfort food … mmmmmmmm …  A comfort of sausage and mash wrapped in a gravy of oniony flavour; or of pure cold ice cream caressing the tongue and the throat, melting into sensory pleasure.

Now, love is my birth right and self love should be my practice, so how should I do more of this?  Simply or in a spa?  I’m placing self love firmly in the fabric of my being, not something sought after when I am sore or tired or lost. It is time for more self care to create those gorgeous moments of heart’s ease; all those single eternities of forgetfulness for everything except a delicious, comforting now.

Self love can be and mean so many things – is in fact a thousand things or it could be a single thing.  One thing is for sure and that it is all about me (or you). Its’ nature is various and it is simple.  It is common and it is golden.  It can be resting my head on a cat’s purring body, paddling in the sea, listening to beautiful music: lifting me up, laying me down, flattening out the undulations and tribulations of a life long lived. Self love is what ever fills me up, and fills my senses with nonsensical, whimsical contentment.  It is time to give myself more – be that relaxation, slow tempo, warmth or coolness, or stillness.

Hummmm, how delicious… That is a whole lot of loving to be and do; and yes, of course – if I am slow or sleeping or awake or leaping, you can take for granted, that the Peachey Pride will all be there, showing me their own smug Self Loving way…

PS: Did you know that a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, cats and all?  I’m completely biased of course, but it makes a purrfect present, for you or the cat lover in your life… You can buy it from book websites any where in the world, including Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…

If I were a Cat, I would never need to take a Holiday…

Sandra Love Letters , , ,

cat holiday

It’s Sunday, the designated day of rest… And after an intense period of work and tiredness and a low constant level of illness, I finally feel like I’m actually slowing down… I’ve taken some time out, to catch up with myself, and to recharge my energy… And some how, to use another Sunday para-phrase, I feel, finally, like I could now embrace a whole month of such delicious days…

When I observe my cats at rest and at play, it seems as if every day is a Sunday to them – as they eat and rest and live to their own tempo, bending time to their will, putting in effort only as a nice necessity, to expend energy, to expand their horizons, radiating out, from the safe warm cave of their home, to explore and twitch through their territory, to do their business (yes – in every way) and thence to return home, simply to start the cycle over and once again.

I work to a different beat and often that beat is metronomic – a ceaseless beating back and forth to the loud tick of time and tides and deadlines and other’s urgencies.

Unlike me, the cats saunter, sniff and sense their way through their days, testing and tasting; whereas the world I walk / run / drive through, can if I let it, be lost to other people’s mores. But in our outside days, we can both encounter obstacles – literal for them, figurative for me – tracks to tread carefully; dogs to avoid or to challenge; establishing our position in the global pack; cars trying to run us down… And so on and etcetera…

The thing is, that I like to be out there in the world – to play my part, to flex my brain, to dance to the tempo of the working world and then, I find, more and more that for my own balance and sense of id, that I need to find my own way too – to balance these routines with rest, to create and to stretch, to work in my purest zones of genius, giving my best gifts of leadership, support and creativity.

And how to balance all these things into a happy harmony – how to have a life of melody, rather than cacophony..?

To finally get to this Sunday state of rest and relaxation, I had to stop the world and get off… I had to leave my routines and the cave – my home and sanctuary. I even have to leave the cats behind for a while – though they are taken well care of, of course…

I’m having a holiday, a break from routine reality, and who know that doing this would make me sick, in both body and soul…

I’ve had a long intense period of activity with work and with many other aspects of my life all speeding up and colliding, and so slowing suddenly down didn’t seem natural (I now realise in hindsight)… I had decided to take a break, to spend more time in the cave, and then manically started to fill that ‘down time’ with new activities. Instead of peace and space, new deadlines started to fill my diary up… I had to take some drastic action and get away…

So off I went, stressing and huffing to break the ties of an unliberated life, and arrived at my designated destination ready to sink into a torpor of blissful relaxation…

Instead I found my head full of poisonous thoughts; I found my body manifesting all manner of sick symptoms – headaches, soreness, tenseness and indigestion… Humph! Some holiday…

So I realise that these demonic happenings had been there all along, inherent in my psyche and body, I just hadn’t given myself any time to notice them, to acknowledge them, and so to heal them and deal with them as I trooped along…

Now I have had the time to deal with my demons, and out they all fly, shooting out of my subconscious, to stomp tracks through my brain and to squeeze my heart into a hard tiny box… Some bloody holiday, this…

So I tried to change tack and track – avoiding my demonic thoughts and feelings with reading and napping and eating. But, being demons, they refused to budge or be re-routed, and instead stood in front of me, nose to nose, breathing their hot, hating bad breath into my face, down my neck and trickling their darkness, slickly and sickly, into my heart…

I’m tired, I feel that I have little strength to ward off such evil, but yet I know, that I have knowledge and I have will and so I actually faced up to them, and faced them gently head on… All this mental effort – some sodding holiday!

Still, I didn’t push back hard against my demons, I lent into them and listened intently, instead…

And then the answers start to come… I can feel that I have menopausal hormones fizzing through my veins – and my demons love to ride on them, shamelessly, bare backed… I need to monitor this more, take care of my body and traverse this transition in my life with less loathing and more good grace…

I have pushed my self and pinched myself into work, giving myself willingly to it, letting it both enervate and punish me – I need a healthier more structured routine to support all I do – to watch my nutrition, faithfully follow through and do my daily meditation, and to stretch and exercise my body.  My home has turned into a maelstrom of mess and disarray. I could sort it all out, but how long will that take me, and when will the will power run out? It seems that I must ask for help, to throw away, to sort and re-structure…

This is supposed to be a holiday, but there I am, making phone calls and arrangements, and planning for a fast future again…

And now I’ve faced those demons, soothed them and dealt with them. I’ve given myself the time and space to lay it all out, and suddenly it all seems so… simple… And the demons suddenly have turned from solid to ghostly form, and have floated upwards and away from me… And now I’m content and at peace, and finally ready to really relax into my holiday… Of course, the thing is that this vacation has now ended and I have to return to my restless reality. Call that a holiday???

Have I got my life all wrong? That I learn, then get caught up in a lesser life and forget my education – my schooling in a different way of living..? And is it so wrong that I constantly catch my self being ‘human’, and complaining and crying.

Well, I am human, and I am still trying to break the habits of a life time. I still don’t do this ‘life led differently’ scenario, naturally… But then that too is my strength, I don’t preach my wisdom, I try it and test it; and then share the scares and my lessons learnt, and so it becomes my triumph. Then I see how others have such experiences too, and how I can show a way that works for us and brings us all to a place of knowledge and of peace.

So holiday over, it’s time back to go back my ‘real’ life and to return to my cats… In fact it’s time to think more ‘cat’ – they have this ‘knowledge and peace’ piece neatly licked, just as those rough rasping tongues of theirs untangle and clean their fur so  efficiently and constantly. Cats know how to rest and how to play, and when a creatures has such cinched certainty, they, clever creatures that they are, don’t need a holiday…

Well… I’m not a cat, so somehow what I’ve just been through feels like a ‘pre-holiday’ – a physical and mental exploration to prepare me for what ever is going to happen next in my life. And I’m planning my next holiday of course… Demon free this time… Whilst the cats will inevitably, bide their time in the Pride…

PS: Did you know that a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, cats and all?  I’m completely biased of course, but it makes a purrfect present, for you or the cat lover in your life… You can buy it from book websites any where in the world, including Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…

Love Letter to a Kitten

Sandra Love Letters

Sophia grown up

Sophia came into my life 18 months ago – as a shock to the system…  I genuinely thought for a long time that we were really incompatible. But then I accepted her and of course in doing so, more of myself. We have now grown up together, and she has taught me so much in that short time.  Here is a post I wrote several months after she arrived in my life… And I’m delighted to say, that now I love this little, maddening madam – to bits!

Hey little Pipsqueak

Well here you are… an idea made flesh and fur… Quite simply you are a squeaker, a looker – kitten and button cute; maddening, emboldened and a feline force of nature.  You are a complete and composite cat joining the Peachey Pride, so that our litter grew from two, to three.

I had wondered dreamily, about bringing in a third cat for years… I looked, I missed, I forgot – as life is…  Already I have two cat companions, both middle-aged male meowlers, and I wanted to bring female kitten energy in to my life and to the mix; to greedily create the next generation of company and purring and responsibility.  Yes, that was the idea…

So what Universal Law of Laughter decreed that when I said, no NOW is not the time for the next leonine instalment, did someone literally turn up on my doorstep with a kitten in cage???

Was it simply Sophia’s time and nothing to do with me?  You see, many cat people I know, (yes, even the pragmatic ones), tell me that the cat always, mystically, chooses you…

And she came with her name – discovered as she was, with her mum and siblings in an old sofa in someone’s garden.  And Sophia, definitely suits her…

My visitors are fascinated by her multicoloured coat – she is grey, with patches of peach and dark stripes down her spine.  She has a Tortoiseshell mum, along with one Black and one Ginger brother – and somehow, all these genetic colour ways conspired into one pussy package.  And who ever saw a peach coloured cat??? Surely she was pre-destined for little old Peachey me!

Well here she was, in my life.  The cage was opened and the cat was out of the bag and into my life – immediately at home, skittering around, only 8 weeks old; new to this living dimension, yet facing it with such catlike confidence and an almost terrifying temerity.

I was simultaneously enraptured and in shock!  Within minutes there was mayhem – a squeaking, skittering creature on the loose in the house.  The adult cats were distinctly and hostilely not impressed.  A growl would mean George was in the vicinity, and a hiss would herald that Taz was within range of the grey furry force that was the tiny ‘Sophie Kitten’.

Sofia was no respecter of boundaries, too young to understand commands and to be fully house trained.  She literally tore through the house: ruining the curtains, crapping in crap places and shredding my skin.  She had a particularly horrid habit of running over my bare feet, with her claws embedding themselves deep into my pink flesh – my poor appendages looked like they had been run over by motorised a cheese grater…  And when ever I wore thick protective socks she would leave them well alone – oh she knew – the little madam!  And next I would find soil flung out of plant pots and onto my carefully manicured cream coloured carpets.

The most intense periods of naughtiness are first thing in the morning and last thing at night.  There is a distinctly wicked glint in those greeny grey eyes, and she switches into a terrifying, troubling trance; ignoring every one and everything in her wide awake wake; and skeetering and careering and trashing everything she meets along her tail trail.

The beautiful balance of the household was dangerously tipped.  The boy cats unhappy, me frustrated and stressed, then in the middle of it all – Sophia, oblivious to the maelstrom her kittenish presence was creating.

When she arrived in our lives, I was at the thick edge of a long period of illness and rued the disturbance her furry presence caused.  I mourned the quiet routines me and my boy cats had fallen into over the years, and the loss of their company, as they voted with their paws and left me alone with my grey bundle of boo.

I had to go to the trouble, damn it, of kitten proofing the house, of making changes to long established routines, as well as buying toys and special baby cat food.  It was all building up to a steam and bang of stress and pressure, and I thought I simply could not cope.  So I decided she had to be returned to her nest, for this Peachey household was not to be her for ever home – the sacrifices were simply, too great…

And the days turned and I ran around busily, stepping over the kitten, concerned with my daily doings and goings, and preparing for my impending, long dreamt of holiday…

So I went sailing away from our lion cave for a week, and while I was gone, the kitten was well looked after by my calm and mindful house mate.  Time moved on and I started to feel healthier in body and mind.  And somehow I had grown used to the idea of a little Sophia in my life and found that after all, I was determined to make this expansion to our world, work.

Having had the companionship of cats for most of my life, I thought I knew them and could wrangle and coax them to my co-operative will, but Sophia was a different pussy proposition.  So I read (up on cat lore) and reasoned, and then relaxed.

The ‘Little Squitler’ came into my life two days before my 50th birthday.  Friends said ‘what a perfect present’ and of course, she really is a gift.  So let’s drop the doubts, and ponder what this present of a puss gives to me…

I have a little creature to mother and I love that.  She is bonded to me and squeals her delight when she sees me.  She has such a steady and ready purr – it is quite delicious and decidedly loud, and it changes in sonic intensity as she exhales and intones her copious pleasure.  She loves to cuddle up and as her reward I scritch her skinny rib cage and scratch her chin, and no creature on this planet could possibly be more deliciously and delectably, delighted…

She chats away constantly – chirruping and berrowing where ever she goes.  She is still mastering the art of meowing, so the sounds that leave her tiny body emanate as high pitched squeaks of greeting, or complaint, or hunger, or loss, or love.  Shut her out on the wrong side of a door and she does the most piteous cries of ‘please-please-please let me in’, that I have ever heard in the animal world.

Her uncle cats are still not impressed.  My big black moggy Taz has practically moved into the garden.  He pops indoors quickly to eat or for fuss, and then the little interloper runs excitedly up to him and he is gone, being either in fight or flight mode.  George I always knew would be braver – despite his soft pedigree good looks, he is an alpha male and made of sterner stuff.  He is also bonded tightly to me and wants to be around me constantly.  And at first it was for minutes if she was there, and then more minutes, and now sometimes hours…

Sofia absolutely adores George and on seeing him, rushes up squealing her delight.  In return she receives a gentle warning swipe and a long, low, deep growl…  George will only tolerate her if she is still and silent, so if she creeps up to him while he is sleeping and snuggles in, that, strangely, is allowed.  Though the second she wants to play or squeaks or reaches out, it’s game over and he is gone, escaping any where she is not.

Sophia knows her name now, is occasionally responding to commands and loves her furry little life.  So a few days ago, when she was sitting on my lap, looking up at me purring, blinking and adoring, I wondered what lessons we will learn together as we pad and walk our journeys through life.  Her name ‘Sophia’ actually means ‘wisdom’, so time, tide and fur will surely tell.

We’ll work it out, since we girls are good at that, and the boys will work it all out, in their own feline way and with my intermittent human interference, too.

This is it then, the intention is now set: let’s all expand the Peachey Pride into a happy, harmonious and, of course – ‘purrfect’ one ;-).

With tickles and treats

S xxx

PS: Although technically an adult now, Sophia will always be to me – a gorgeous, grey kitten…

PPS: See my ‘Love Letter to cat kind’, along with more ‘Love Letters to Life’ to the people, phenomena and happenings that make up my Peachey in my book ‘Peachey Letters’. You can get hold of your copy here…  or else from Amazon (in both Kindle and Paperback formats) and from all good book shops…

My Love Letter to Cats

Sandra Love Letters

3 cats on sofa

Meet ‘the Pride’

Dear Feline Friends

For all our involvement, for all the power we try to wield over this planet, mankind is, in many ways, in the minority.  We share it all this creation, this never ending motion, with God’s Creatures … the beasts, the animals and the pets.

As I write this letter, my elbow is resting on the haunches of George – a cat, a named pet, a creature on loan to me – a gorgeous gift from God.

At some point in its evolution, cat-kind left the jungle and became enmeshed in the world of man and womankind.  Its descendants pounced on our vermin, kept us company, then shared their fleas and their purrs.

The domesticated cat – a recognisable cousin to its wild counterparts, now resides alongside many of us and for me that particular co-habitation started early on.

I’m told we had a cat when I was a small child, though I have only one hazy memory of this creature, called Corky, curled up on a blanket.

My solid memories start later, with the kitten bought for me when I was 12.  That was the year my brother left home … so we substituted him with another boy, my lucky black cat ‘Whiskers’.  The love was instant … I met a tiny ball of black fluff who was curled up on my living room chair, who then got up, yawned and stretched luxouriously, found his own way in to the next room for dinner, then availed him self of the litter box.  I was amazed at the confident temerity of this little creature: his self assurance, how at home he already was, how he knew what to do, where to go and next I discovered that he loved to play and he loved to give and receive love and from then on I was hooked on feline kind …

This creature immediately became part of the family unit …  I discovered, unknowingly that my father had an affinity for the feline; in fact he had a special language, reserved just for the cat, (which he in turn had absorbed from his own father) and he would compliment his companion, in fun of and homage to his own lost dad and the cat received these blandishments with quiet, blinking gratitude.

And when I left home 6 years later again, I packed all my belongings away, dry eyed and finally cried at long last when I had to say good bye to my creature friend; as if he some how represented all that was soft and childish in me and embodied the loss of all that I was now leaving behind me, in order to walk towards my adulthood.

I had to bide my time before I was quite grown up and static enough to have my very own cat creature.  And when the time finally came, I chose another black boy, to substitute my child cat, to practise my parenting skills on, to add warmth and dimension to my life; and bought him into my new home, shared with my fiancé – a self confessed cat hater …

Now I did have his permission to bring a cat in, but he was less than impressed at his first meeting with the ‘little rat’.  Then without my bidding, the feline magic was worked … he gave the creature a human name (Dougal) and his affection; he realised he had a live toy, a companion, a subject of endless fascination and conversation and so his own love story with cat kind began …

I left the man and he kept the cat and a little later the next creature came in to my life and so on through my time.  Then there was one man later on who was made sick by my cat, so the cat went and the man stayed … for a short time … Never again I said.  And never again I did.

My next cat – a large ginger tiger tom named Muttley – was a challenge.  He was intelligent and self possessed and kept himself to himself.  I had adopted him as an abandoned adult, so who knew his story before then?   So I learned to love unconditionally, getting little in return for my food and shelter.  Instead I made cat-kind an object of study, I read, I revised, I learnt … all about their physiology, psychology and genetics, and I also studied my own boy – his body language, his voice, his ways and I gave him love by food, by shelter and by soft voice.  Then over years, he returned the favours and the love and later again, when he was run over and his pelvis was crushed – I sobbed sadly and loudly.

He survived the experience – the treating vet telling me that these creatures of God have the best self healing musclo-skeletal system of all animal kind and though his pelvis formed a new shape, the tiger returned to his habitat, changed but yet intact.

And there have been more and more creature companions, and I have seen the love story happen to others, again and again … and for some it becomes a feline obsession …  An endless fascination of conversation and occupation.

For me, the lure is that we are bound by love to these creatures.  They come to us for food of course, but then they stay with us for love.  They seek our company, they desire our affection and so it is love that ties us together.  We receive their company, and are part of a primordial relationship, one that is closer to nature than to man’s machinations.  And at times they are domesticated pets and at times they are wild creatures and it is their very differences – between themselves and ourselves – that is part of their inherent allure.

And that for me is love.  So I am now sending that love out to you – from me and from George, Taz and Sophia – three of my favourite gifts ‘on loan’ and most definitely God’s Creatures.

      Yours, adoringly… Sandra x

PS: Did you know that a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, cats and all?  I’m completely biased of course, but it makes a purrfect present, for you or the cat lover in your life… You can buy it from book websites any where in the world, including Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…