Grace is my four-year-old Maine Coon cat. She loves country life, her extensive territory, hunting, sleeping, eating, though is on a war footing with the rector’s cat.
However, she was not created for a warming world. Rather, she is built for chilly nights, padding over snow.
Imagine what it’s like for her now? Earlier in the week, she sought out every draught she could find and lay in it. She ate less. And, when my bedtime came, she headed out for a marginally cooler night, returning at breakfast time.
It got hotter. As I write, she is lying in the shade outside. It is 31 degrees. The next few days will be hotter. She looks at me as if to say, ‘I hate this. Can’t you do anything about it?’ I can plant trees Grace, how about that?
I am hoping that she will endure it.
It is wise to learn from your cat. You will then eat well, sleep well, and rarely give a fig about who’s sofa it is.
So, I have learned from Grace and have started going for walks after 9pm. It is cooler. The physical pressure of the heat of the day has eased. Barely a soul is around.
At the end of the village where I live, the winding lane is narrow. There are no pavements or streetlights. Normally, I stick to the hedgerow to avoid vehicles, some of whom might be going just a tad over the speed limit.
Not tonight. I walk in the middle of the road, the sky that beautiful pink-blue-lilac that is the colour of midsummer. The last of the pigeons are heading home for bed. A quietness hangs over the village.
I take the shortest route I can, past a field, the church, the dried-up pond and back along the main road to home.
There are no cars. It is peaceful. Politics, climate change, worries and fears fade away in the gloaming. This is the time to walk.
I should be more like Grace. Perhaps we all should.
