The Antique Cat...

   I had always been interested in old things.   Old cabinets, old jewellery, old men... But we'll say no more about that;  this is a respectable blog.   Having returned to England after several years' living in France, I thought I'd better go through the boxes of things sitting all around the house and set aside those that would have to go to a car boot sale to give us space to put our feet on the floor.   Every room was a mess of boxes, and in the small spaces between  them the carpet was littered with shavings of cardboard the cats had used as decoration.   So I went through three of the boxes (which took all day;  can I really bear to part with this, or will I be regretting it for the rest of the year?)
   By the end of the day the feeling was creeping over me that it was all a big mistake.   I knew some of these things were already classed as collectors' items;  so I sat myself down at the computer, and began looking them up.
   Gulp!   Had I really been about to take that art deco mirror to a boot sale?   Well, thanks to my friend the internet, I had been saved from one error of judgement;  and another;  and another...

   When I took my things over to France in the first place, there had been some (mentioning no names) who had made scathing comments about the lovely old things I had taken with me.   Now I found that some of my 'old tat' was actually quite valuable antique furniture.   I felt annoyed with myself at not having spent my spare time earlier in learning about the things I loved.  Still... it's never to late to learn;  and now I'm working hard at building up my expertise.  Of course, I've had a great deal of help from other members of the family;  in particular, from Charlie...

   Bracken...
                                                                            and Olly.


   You can trust a cat with antiques.   I learned that many years ago, watching a beautiful tabby tiptoeing through the glassware in the window of an antique shop in Calais.  (At this point I feel a legal disclaimer ought to be inserted;  but what the hell, kiddy, what the hell?   - Has anybody read the wonderful   'archy and mehitabel', a journal written by a cockroach on a typewriter in a newspaper office, so of course no capitals and little punctuation, as he can't hold the carriage shift and jump on a letter at the same time?   His friend mehitabel, the cat, claims she was cleopatra in a previous life.   I love her catchphrases.  'Always a lady', and  'Toujours gai, kiddy', bring the era to life as only a cat can.   The book was written by Don Marquis, an American novelist, in 1916.)
   So, with 'the team' to back me up, I went into business...
   ...And here are some of my favourites among my hidden treasures.

    The black cat is my favourite of all, and there's no way he'll ever go to any kind of a sale, car boot or otherwise.  He was my father's when Dad was a boy, so that makes him at least about one hundred years old.   On my next trip out, he's due for a new ribbon.   Probably pink.   Although my son complains that I'll give the cats a complex by calling them pretty boys.   What the hell, kiddy, what the hell?

   Okay, I can't deny that some things are fit only for a car boot sale.   Perhaps I can persuade those family members with time on their hands to help me out with one, then I can buy as well as sell.   Buy?   Get thee behind me, Satan...
   It's funny, I've never thought of myself as a girly girl (or girly old woman, if it comes to that,) but the sight of pretty things, especially pretty things with flowers on, or cats, or garden views, makes my fingers start to itch and twitch.   Maybe I have an addictive personality.   Or maybe pretty things are just meant to be bought and loved.
   At least at my age I can say some of my antiques grew up with me.   Though if anyone else had said that I mightn't have been pleased.
   And back I go, to my lovely delicate china, my slightly smudged crinoline lady mirror, and my 1980s hand knitted matinee jackets, for another bout of sorting and packing and fondling to clear a space on that floor I'd forgotten I had.   More to follow, as soon as I have room to move...