Tag Archives: cat

Creating Encounter in Colour: Grey Cat


I dreamed of a grey cat, who walks like a blueing mist, curling her tail around her favourites and brush-sabre rattling it at those she despises. She slinks by the edges of life and purrs at purrable things. She is fiercely honest, and embraces mystery with every silent padding pawstep. She knows when to sharpen her claws, and when to velvet them away. I have not looked her in the eyes yet, but I am sure they are round topaz wetness, liquid stone in the fog of fur, streaked with streams of moss, and that a sliver of onyx holds the centre in pupilled darkness.

She sleeps in sunbeams when they are slow enough to catch her, and curls up in shadow, happy in light and dark, seeing clear by either. She always goes around and never through, shedding softness in a stormy carpet behind her for us to follow if we wish to, a cloud of fibrous unknowing. She does not come when called, and in any case, there is no name diaphanous enough to wrap itself around her.

I have only glimpsed the back of her, as she passes the cleft of my rocky hiding place, but as I died in my dream, I knew with all my heart I wished I had got to know her better.


text © K Dibbens-Wyatt  Photo from Pixabay

166. Grey (colour 11)


Grey can seem to some like a boring colour. We say a day is grey when it is overcast and the weather feels heavy and dull. But for me, it is the colour of storms, of change coming, and of the soft, velvet fur of a Persian cat. Rumbling of thunder, thunderous purring, rolling clouds, undulating feline fluffball. Both hold potential, of rain and affection, both might give instead, a fearsome show of growls accompanied by static electricity.

text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017


122. Kasbah (Humour 9)


This product from a CATalogue never fails to make us laugh. As though a cat has the faintest notion of what the Moroccan Kasbah might be, or would want to be reminded of it even if it did! Pure comedy genius and for me, a perfect illustration of how ludicrous marketing to the middle classes can be! If keeping up with the Joneses has expanded to include cat beds, we are definitely in trouble. Class distinctions and things that overstretch the mark are certainly things to look out for when searching to find the humour in life.

text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017

117. No More Photos! (Humour 4)


My cat here looks like she is tired of being bothered by the Pupparazzi. After all, one can’t look glamorous every minute of the day. Some people frown on anthropomorphism, but since I see animals as having souls and personalities, I enjoy it. Some of my British readers might be old enough to remember Animal Magic with presenter (and zookeeper) Johnny Morris. He would do voices for all the animals, and they were well-observed, funny and often, poignant. It helped birth in me a lifelong love and respect for animals and I think that, done with a self-conscious understanding, putting words in others’ mouths this way can often allow the joke to be on us! It can help us too, in our contemplative seeing, to recognise the “human” characteristics or behaviours in other species, so that we find out we are not so very different after all. It aids our inner poets and storytellers too, if we can imagine a ladybird going shopping, or a dandelion feeling the cold. Humour is often built upon empathy.

text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017

103. Light and Shadow (Juxtaposition 3)


Light and its absence create a powerful striping across any subject. How different we look and sometimes feel in the brightness, as opposed to the dark. We long, don’t we, for the cool of shade when we are hot or blinded by the sun, and conversely, for the warmth and comfort of the sunlight, during dull grey days.

text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017

38. Schrödinger’s Cat (hope)


We haven’t seen our neighbours to speak to for a while, nor had we seen their ginger tomcat Timmy (fiercer than he sounds) all winter. He is getting on a bit and since he had also neglected to sign our Christmas card, we feared he had passed on. But today, there he was, sitting in the front garden, enjoying the almostness of the February sunshine. The warmth was not quite there in the same way that he seemed too good a sight to be true. For several months, he had been dead in my mind, and here he was bold as kitty brass, staring at me and wondering why I was telling him I was pleased to see him.

Hope is, perhaps sometimes like the cat in Schrödinger’s ironic fictional experiment, neither there and yet there at the same time, on account of ignorance of circumstances. One might picture Herr Schrödinger holding out a plate of tuna and calling the cat out of its box and into being, though he would, perhaps have been using a slightly more Germanic name than “Timmy.”

Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017

35. Lunch? (hope)


What you cannot see in this photo is the proximity of a plump pigeon, right in Melody’s eyeline as she looks through her catflap with hope in her green eyes. In such a case, the hope is entirely false, since however large the pigeon, Melly would never manage to lay a claw on it due to her lack of speed, excess of girth and complete inability to go through her door without making a gigantic clatter.   But still the hope is there, poised and undeniable. Sometimes I feel surges of inexplicable optimism too, even though, like my cat, you’d really think I would know better by now.


Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017