Another Spectrum

Personal ramblings and rants of a somewhat twisted mind


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Adopted

But who adopted who?

Let’s step back to last winter. Often when we opened the home office curtains in the morning we’d notice a fluffy cat asleep on one of the seats on the balcony. If it heard the curtains open it would wake and run away. I began to be careful opening the curtains so as not to disturb the cat.

As the weather warmed, we’d see it more often, either in it’s favourite seat on the balcony or taking advantage of a sunny spot in our garden. At first it would keep its distance from me, but I’d gently talk to it as I went about chores outside. It’s an extremely vocal cat and would let me know it was nearby. By mid Spring she (I think it’s a she) would flop down right in front of me (even when I was walking) roll on her back and demand a tummy rub and a head scratch. How could I refuse?

At first, I assumed she was a friendly neighbourhood pet that had decided our section (property/lot) was part of her territory, but as spring turned into summer and our exterior doors were open for much of the day, the cat decided that the interior of our home belonged to her as well. I had no objection, but the Wife disagreed, and would chase the cat away whenever it approached the house. However the cat persisted.

By midsummer, the cat seemed to be spending nearly all her time near our house and irrespective of the weather and we’d often see her on one of the front balconies or in the back porch depending of the prevailing wind, and she’d often meow for up to an hour pleading to be let in. The wife still wouldn’t let the cat inside, but ceased chasing it away.

My migraines can put me into a kind of dissociative state. At such times the presence of an animal can help me keep a grip on reality. Sitting outside where I can feel a breeze can also help. When that type of migraine started, I would sit outside, and the cat would come close and knead whatever part part of my anatomy it could reach – usually an arm or a leg. No demand to be rubbed and scratched as it usually did. That was the clincher!

The Wife recognised the therapeutic effect the cat had on me and relented – so long as the cat kept out of the kitchen and the master bedroom. We’re still working on the kitchen, but the cat now knows the bedroom is a no go area. Up until this point we had not fed her, but I kept clean water available for her outside as I noticed she’d drink from any source available, even from an abandoned algae filled flower pot I discovered hidden in an overgrown corner the garden.

By early March she had taken an armchair in the lounge as her own, and as the days where a door could be left open for her became fewer, I found myself becoming her personal doorman, at her beck and call as she made her very vocal demands to be let in or out. And I mean very vocal. The solution? I installed a cat flap in the back door. It took just a few days for her to learn how to use it. Now she comes and goes as she pleases.

The cat has taken to bringing us thank you presents for making her welcome – in the form of mice. Usually one or two every day, but often more. She sits outside with her gift and meows until either I go out and praise her or until she gives up waiting and brings the mouse inside to present personally. I’ve learnt not to keep her waiting.

At least she’s not wasteful, consuming the rodent in its entirely. We haven’t had a cat for more than than 30 years, but previous cats tended to leave the tails. Not this cat.

If the cat does belong to a household in the neighbourhood, it’s not from one nearby. I suspect that if it has had an owner, they have moved and abandoned it or the cat has found its way back to familiar territory. Either way there seems to be an adoption in progress. Our next move will be to take her to the vet and find out if she’s been microchipped, vaccinated and spayed. And if she belongs to a nearby family. In the meantime, we have started feeding her. Not that she eats much. It depends on the number of mice she’s caught. On a good hunting day, she doesn’t ask for food at all.

We haven’t given her a name. She’s referred to as The Cat or Puss. That seems to be sufficient in my view and it appears she’s not bothered, but some family members are demanding she be given a “proper” name. I’ve suggested neko or ngeru (the word for cat in Japanese and Māori respectively), but for some reason neither name has met with approval.

I give you The Cat:

The newest addition to the family – The Cat


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Murphy’s law

We’ve had a few days of torrential rain. Of course at started after I hung up several loads of laundry on the clothesline. Then the gods decided to apply Murphy’s law. It wasn’t quite dry when the the skies opened and the rain fell by the bucket load. There was no way I was going out to bring washing that was wetter than when it was hung up, so I left it up to nature to give the clothes an ultra rinse.

I really didn’t expect it to be a two day rinse, but that’s what it was. This morning the sun came out, so we did some more washing and hung that up alongside the loads from two days earlier, which by that time was partially dry. Time to go for a pre-Christmas haircut. The Wife and I duly drive to the Hairdresser a mere 5 minutes away and in less than thirty minutes we’re both done.

The sky looked decidedly grey as we came out, and just as we closed the car doors, a light rain shower started. The washing! We weren’t going to let Murphy get the better of us time. Our plans to visit the pharmacy and a D.I.Y. store on the way home were abandoned as we made a dash to save the washing. It was a futile effort. This is what we found when we arrived home.

Another ultra rinse is in progress. Tomorrow promises more of the same.


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What’s in a name?

Sometimes political “correctness” gets totally out of hand. Consider New Zealand Football mulling over whether they should change the nickname of the New Zealand soccer team, because some people might consider it racist. For those who aren’t aware, the nickname is All Whites. It has nothing to do with race or skin colour. It refers to the colour of their attire, which as the name suggests is indeed all white, in contrast the the national rugby union team who wear an all black uniform and unsurprisingly are known as the All Blacks.

Should the politically correct persuade New Zealand Football to change the team name, who will be next their next target? Many NZ national teams include a colour in their team names. Here’s a few:

  • All Blacks (men’s rugby union)
  • All Whites (men’s soccer)
  • Black Caps (men’s cricket)
  • Black Ferns (women’s Rugby Union)
  • Black Fins (mixed gender life saving, men’s underwater hockey)
  • Black Jacks (men’s and women’s lawn bowls)
  • Black Socks (men’s softball)
  • Black Sticks (men’s and women’s field hockey)
  • Diamondblacks (men’s baseball)
  • Futsal Whites (futsal)
  • Ice Blacks (men’s ice hockey)
  • Mat Blacks (men’s indoor bowls)
  • Silver Ferns (netball)
  • Silver Fins (women’s underwater hockey)
  • Steel Blacks (men’s American football)
  • Tall Blacks (men’s basketball)
  • Wheel Blacks (men’s wheelchair rugby)
  • White Ferns (women’s cricket)

Admittedly I’m not aware of silver being attributed to any racial or ethnic group, but hey, it’s a colour so get rid of that just in case. In fact there’s not too many NZ teams that don’t include a colour in their names:

  • Football Ferns (women’s soccer)
  • Ice Ferns (women’s ice hockey)
  • Inline Ferns (women’s inline hockey)
  • Kiwis (men’s rugby league)
  • Kiwi Ferns (women’s rugby league)
  • Tall Ferns (women’s basketball)

There has been only NZ one team name that in my view has had a somewhat inappropriate name and that was the New Zealand Badminton team. For a short while they officially adopted the name Black Cocks. However the International Badminton Federation was not amused. We don’t have smutty minds, and the name is still used as an unofficial name for the team.

Perhaps New Zealand sports teams don’t have very imaginative names – almost every name includes at least one of these words: black, white, sliver, fern – but that very fact makes them distinctly New Zealand. Leave them alone.


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Flawed logic?

Where one person prepares a meal, others who partake of the meal have a responsibility tidy up the kitchen and dining area afterwards. That seems logical and fair to me.

When one makes a mess, one has a responsibility to tidy that mess up. That seems logical and fair also.

So why does it seem so unfair when the first rule above applies only when the wife cooks and the second rule applies only when I cook?


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New Year resolutions

So many bloggers have commented on how their New Year resolutions are abandoned or broken within days of being set. One thing I can be fully proud of is that I have never set a New Year resolution and failed to keep it.

While you may be thinking that I am a lier or have amazing tenacity, neither are true.


In my 71 years on this planet I have yet to set even one New Year resolution.


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A covid free (Kiwi) Christmas

We might not be able to join with overseas relatives this Christmas, but the authorities have put in place measures to ensure that Santa will be able to visit Aotearoa New Zealand. He will not need to quarantine for fourteen days as do other visitors. As the interview with the Prime Minister illustrates, this country has pulled out all the stops to make sure Santa’s delivery run is as safe and Covid free as possible. Not sure if the same is true in other jurisdictions…


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Tea for two

Tea is the name Kiwis give to the evening meal. Why, I have no idea, but that’s the way it is. And before anyone tries to tell me that we are mutilating the English language, may I remind you that the Americans call the main course of a meal the entrée, when it’s supposed to be the course before the main course, and they commit the greatest of all culinary crimes by topping an oversized meringue with whipped cream and berries and calling it a pavlova!

The wife and I don’t dine out often. Quality restaurants tend to be somewhat pricey in this country, and being on a limited budget, we get better “bang for bucks” by buying top quality ingredients and cooking at home. Besides, even better restaurants tend to leave us a little disappointed. The wife has an exceptional skill when it comes to flavour and aroma and she has a mastery that few professional chefs could better. A quiet intimate tea for two with a glass or two of NZ Riesling, Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Gris or Chardonnay in the comfort of our own home is hard to beat, and there’s no need to drive home afterwards.

While perhaps presentation isn’t quite up to that of the professionals, flavour and aroma more than makes up for it. Here’s a selection of home cooked meals we’ve enjoyed over the past month [Duration – 2m 37s]

Nothing can beat a lovingly prepared home meal


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Flowers

The wife is fond of reminding me that I never bring her flowers. It’s not quite true, but the ridiculous price we must pay for a bunch means they are not high in priority on my shopping list.

We’re attempting to have a garden that has some flowers regardless of season, and when I reminded the wife that we have plenty of flowers, just not in a vase, she retorted that they don’t count as they’re not a gift from me to her.

She wants flowers. I can’t afford to buy some. Solution: pick some from our garden. Here’s the result.

An attempt at flower arranging


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Triggers

Many folk who have experienced a trauma develop emotional triggers that can be set off by apparently innocuous events. This is perfectly understandable. I have a few of my own.

Usually, when someone is triggered others display some degree of empathy or sympathy to that person and make some allowances for the response. Usually, the party or event that inadvertently caused the trigger is not considered blameworthy because there is usually no reason for them to think their action could be harmful..

So how come, no matter whether I’m the trigger or the triggered, I’m an arsehole and the other party is the victim. How does that work?