Today, I officially became the reincarnation of my grandmother.
She was a formidable woman, under 5 feet tall, and about that wide. Her bosom was enormous and forever covered in flour from the scones or pies she was baking.
I always think of her when I see an old lady throwing a tantrum in public – for a woman who used a walker, she could storm off in a damn hurry, when she wasn’t getting her own way.
She was flirty and cheeky, her mischievous cackle would light up her eyes, her perpetually high-heeled shoes tapping out of time to the music her voice was trying desperately to sing to – there was great musical talent in her side of the family.
None of it belonged to her.
Her voice was this high pitched, nasal assault to your ears, but in spite of the nails-on-a-chalkboard shudder that rippled through you, it made you smile because it was patently evident that she loved life and was not hindered by self-consciousness.
She lived to party, and had to be the centre of attention – this is where she and I differ greatly. The place we join at the seams is our obsession with our cats, and also in the way we keep the house tidy. Or, in the way we don’t keep the house tidy.
I had always said that my cat obsession would cease at owning living, breathing cats – two at the most. I would not follow in her footsteps and start collecting feline figurines, filling display cabinets with items that would soon be coated in a thick film of dust that I would never bring myself to clean.
But, umm. Today I just followed in one of her other footsteps in a purchase that completely blindsided me.
I just bought a tea towel. A display tea towel.
With cats on it.
One of them is wearing a monocle.
In my defense, this is one amazing tea towel and Nan would totally agree.