Thursday, September 10, 2009

Rip got Torn. Literally.

Ngaire and I have recently made a decision to become self-sufficient. I do not mean this in the hippy way. We are urban gangsters, we have to be realistic here. But times are hard, so we have to adapt to the gruelling disappointments of the modern age. We have to fend for ourselves, rummage through skips, that sort of business. Its a modern world and I am a modern gentlewoman.


After an empowering day of craft with Jimmy, I was dismayed to see I had been locked out of the Palace of Dreams, a.k.a my flat after the "gardener" if that is his true profession (of this I am doubtful) locked our sliding doors. Storm clouds were looming, I had four heavy bags in tow, my prospects were looking grim. But after a terribly motivating chat with myself, I managed to hoist myself up through a perilous crack in the bathroom window. There were only two casualties, which I would rather not discuss. I felt triumphant. Strong. Empowered.
Until... RIP! What happened to you? You were hanging in a glass frame when I left the house this morning. You have changed....




The puss is now complete. After sitting in my room for months, mocking me with slightly down-syndrome eyes (note that these have not been altered) I have finally finished the beast. But why does it continue to haunt me?

2 comments:

Alex Mitcalfe Wilson said...

The cat is me.
I'm serious.
Can't you see the resemblance?

Tommy Ross said...

I do! Incredible!