footpath vanilla cat

 The man in the footpath sign is in a hurry. The footpath in question leads to the station. He mustn't miss the train.

Some  naturally  perfumed  soap from Crete arrived in our house at Christmas. It is transparent and contains pieces of  the herbs, leaves and  spices whereby it transmits its scent. One of the soaps contains pine needles and smells like a sloping, tree-clad hillside above the Mediterranean.  Another one contains vanilla of which our bathroom now persistently smells. At first  it reminds me of custard, a fragrance which I am a little embarrassed to carry on my person. But gradually as I recall that vanilla is in fact the cured pod of a vine called vanilla plantifolia rather than just an ingredient of sweet food, I feel reconciled to its lingering sensuality.

Coming towards me in Calverley Ground this after afternoon is a plump and rather stately tabby cat. It is accompanies by a tall old lady. At least I think they are together. As we pass, she smiles at me, "He's exploring," she says. Do you take your cat for a walk?" I say. "I live in the cul de sac  here," she says but sometimes the cars come along a bit fast." "Does he respond when you call?" "No, " she says. "Unless there is food involved." That's cat all over.