Today I was cutting out some paper glasses for Kelda. Hmm. I can see this is
going to take more explaining than I imagined.
Kelda is our cat. Actually she's my cat but she's our cat now. I've had her
just over two years. She arrived a couple of months before I met your mum.
I always thought, if I were to have a cat, and to be honest I'm more a dog
person, that I’d get a scrapper. I thought it'd be a battling Tom cat, all
scarred and ragged.
So a bloke I used to work with asked if anyone wanted a cat on Facebook and I
said I'd have it if there were no other takers. I didn't see a picture of her
or anything. So when he turned up with her I was a bit surprised. She's a
pretty cat with bright blue eyes. Certainly not a scrapper.
Her name comes from a Terry Pratchett series. A Kelda is the only woman of a
clan. The rest of her clan are all small, blue fighting men with red hair. They are called the Nac MaC Feegles. She's
very powerful and dominating. Maybe you'll read about them for yourself.
Anyway I got some vouchers through the post and there were some cut-out paper
glasses to put on your pet and send pictures in and whilst I was cutting them
out I thought about learning to use scissors and cut out neatly and how tricky
it is when you're little and how you're praised for cutting out well and how
such milestones are important. I could almost see your chubby little hands
gripping the scissors and your tongue sticking out in concentration. All these
things I take for granted now but they all took effort and concentration and
practice. And very soon we'll experience it all again, with you.
My friends, who already have children, say don't bother with advice really,
they say you just have to work if out for yourself. They then usually go on to
say: but I will give you this one piece of advice...
At the moment that seems to be mainly based around routine and that suits me.
I'm good with routines. We have 'Kelda Cuddles' after my shower and 'Sunday
shaves' on, well a Sunday.
(Your mum says I'm a bit much on the alliteration but it fits my head.
Everything that happens are like little boxes of stories and the alliteration
gives them a title or a chapter or a place to live I suppose.)
I have a funny relationship with shaving. When I was tiny little I can remember
sitting in the bath putting bubbles on my face and pretending to shave them off
with my dad's old razor (blade not included).
I can remember watching my granddad. He had this brush and somehow he dipped it
in a mug and used that to lather his face. He used to shave with a cut throat
razor which I now have framed on the wall.
In fact, if you're a boy you'll be called Eli and that's after him but more
about that at some other point.
So I started shaving when I was twelve which is quite young for that kind of
business. I never really liked it, it made my face sore and my skin never really
got used to it.
From then on I've always had a stubbly beard and for a long time I've shaved my
head. So on Sunday's, I shave my head and trim my beard so I look a bit more
presentable for work on a Monday.
I was half growing my beard but your mum said it won't be nice for a baby, all
stubbly whiskers. My granddad had a moustache and he was prickly to kiss so I
kinda see what she means. But there was something different about kissing him
when he was little. I kind of had to brace myself but I kind of liked it as well.
Now my dad's aunty Tessy, she had a prickly face and me and my cousin did
everything we could to avoid kissing her. That's another story though, probably
not necessary for now.
I guess shaving and watching your dad pull funny faces in the mirror is
something you won't get to see too much. I might do it for you anyway. We'll