Time was me and Mothermouse as the dominant species
fed the cats, plus the crows, pigeons, squirrels, hedgehogs and other small
birds visiting our back garden. That was how it should be. Lately though by the
looks of things the cats or rather one of them has taken on the role of sub
feeder. It’s difficult to know which one exactly. Britney has the intelligence
but not a maternal bone where Betty has the neurosis and a vestigial motivation
to snuggle up with Dave and smell his bottom. Anyway one of them has taken to
placing a small woollen toy with ears and eyes in a feeding bowl presumably in
the hope of rearing it. Granted the bowl was always empty but then as a
responsible parent one must always feed first in order to continue one’s caring
responsibilities. Nevertheless there it was three or four times carefully
placed in a bowl. Until, as is often the case, the maternal instinct failed in
the face of a night time feed not going to plan. In the morning the said
woollen toy was de-stranded on the dining room carpet like the remains of a jet
plane hitting a hillside. Strands of orange wool all over the place in no
particular order. End of cat toy number 1. A week went by. A grey material blob
of a toy with arms and legs, god knows what it’s supposed to be, appeared in a
bowl last Sunday. But this is made of sterner stuff, fabric sewn together in an
unknown Indonesian factory by an unknown Indonesian factory worker brought into
this world to make indefinable cat toys. What will be its fate? Will the
maternal instinct win out? Or will the teeth and claws of Betty, we think it’s
Betty, cause another infanticide? It’s a right cliff-hanger.
Tuesday, 31 October 2017
Wednesday, 4 October 2017
Get Your Finger Out.
At the risk of repeating myself Therapy Today is the BACP
monthly journal for therapists. BACP stands for British Acronym Creation Program. If you’re no good at redacting words to letters or reversing the
process it’s a difficult read. It always reminds me of the gold rush where hard
working diggers and sifters are fleeced of any profits by ancillary providers.
In this case room renters, insurance brokers and course providers. With twenty
pages of these to two of jobs it’s clear where the opportunities lie. Simply
think up a new acronym and create a training course for it. As an off the cuff
example; Integrative Trans-anything Co-anything Counselling. Maybe the
difference is an ITCC course to twenty people can earn considerably more than
providing counselling to one. And as the general public would far rather shell
out for the latest Sky package as a route to happiness than contemplate self
examination with a stranger a counsellor’s incomings are unlikely to cover
their outgoings. But there’s a new hopeful helper born every minute, and
there’s a mysterious kudos to counselling. According to some eminent therapist,
Fritz Pearls or Rogers or someone, we aren’t very good at it, our understated
British reserve not having the necessary cutting edge. A friend was accompanied
by a Slovakian colleague on a visit to a depressed guy. Where Suzymouse went
the positive encouragement route the Slovakian gently explained he had no
friends, was lazy, didn’t go out and smelt, and was making no effort to change
things. Though lacking in positivity at least it gave him something to think
about. GYFFO counselling. I have just the course.
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