Gosh, what is the best possessive form for the name Ozymandias?! Well, either ways I met his twin cat once again today whilst out walking. In virtually the exact same spot too atop West Cliff. The similarity really is remarkable, I could have almost imagined I was stroking Ozymandias himself, had I been sitting on the sofa in the caravan looking out across the river rather than a bench in Whitby looking out to sea. The twin is perhaps a little smaller than the Ozbeast, not so well fed, and has less sign of a tail stump, but otherwise the two cats really are identical. The Oz twin is hugely affectionate too, much like the original, and I spent a good while with it purring on my lap, much enjoying it's rubbing. I could almost believe that they well be out of the same litter. Still, who knows, but it's certainly a peculiar little thing.

Meanwhile I keep wondering what this strange feeling might be and I've come to realise that it's the feeling of not finding myself stuck in the middle of some impossible sustained crisis! Now Dad is out of hospital, I've got my university assignment completed and my capacity to go indoors is still undiminshed things seem curiously quiet now. I suppose I should try and enjoy it whilst it lasts. Having survived all it has my brain now feels it might actually be able to do some things. Whether or not it will remains to be seen, it would nice to be able to write a poem or something though, I've not done anything really creative for ages. I'm somewhat tentative about stepping out into such realms though, not wanting to break the spell. My usual cycle often involves some hopeful attempt at productivity only for my train of thought to take a pointless detour into the sidings of disappointment and despair for no good reason. For now I shall just try to remain quietly positive and hope the tracks will run smoothly for a while. (And any other train metaphor that Andrew Eldritch may not have written about).

So probably best not to try analyse things too much right now and give the delicate shoots of hopefulness some time to germinate and rise. Admittedly though, expecting me not to think about things too much might be rather like asking a cat not to meow but still it's worth a try. For the moment I shall just sit and appreciate the evening is warm; the rain is falling softly from a chocolate brown sky and the air caresses the skin like a whispered secret. The moment is the only thing I dare to wish to think about right now, hopefully though I may absorb some of its poetry.