Born to be wild.

After my puff piece on my Bella, in the interest of fairness, I should tell you a little about our other cat, Indi.

A little over seven years ago, after a relaxing weekend away in Daylesford, my boy and I stopped by a little 1970s blonde brick home in Broadmeadows (or what we affectionately refer to as Broady). Its garden was overgrown, the lawn was long and weedy, and there were broken bikes, scrap metal and hotted-up cars (probably Commodores) out the front. Now, Broadmeadows is not known for its gentry or curbside appeal, but more for its gang-related drug trade and occasional drive-by shootings and stabbings. (Or so the news tells us.)

My boy and I hadn’t decided to take up any illicit activities, but were there to take home a nine-week-old tortoiseshell kitten that one of my colleagues had told me about. The runt of the litter, we’d fallen for her feisty charms when she was just one-week-old, when she’d protested at us picking her up by pawing at us and trying to release a huge, open-jawed yowl that had only yielded a very, very, very faint squeak. We called her Indiana, after Indiana Jones, the great adventurer (and his family dog).

In the car on the way home, Indi clawed up my chest and stared out of the windows at the cars we passed, much to the amusement of the other drivers. At our little unit in Hawthorn, it wasn’t long before she disappeared. We found her fast asleep in her basket – she clearly already felt right at home.

Indi, somewhat like a dog (but more aloof), comes when my boy whistles. When she was little, she’d chase and carry foil balls around, playing soccer with them up and down our hallway. Sometimes we still find them under the couch and behind the TV cabinet.

Indi also thinks she’s our equal (but is more aloof). She’ll eat ice cream from a cone, takes up half the bed, and once I even saw her stand on her hind legs and, holding a twig of cat thyme in her front paws, walk across our courtyard. She (not I) was totally high on the stuff.

Indi is charming and friendly. When she chooses to be. In Hawthorn, she quickly made friends with our neighbours and their huge, grey fluffy cat, Winston. Each morning, Indi would run across our courtyard, jump the fence and bang on their back door until they let her in to see Winston (until then, an indoor-only cat). She would eat his gourmet food, race up and down their hall, then ask for them to both go out. She kept him out all hours, play fighting in our courtyard, chasing mice in the vacant lot behind our unit, and wandering along the rooftops, following birds and possums. She also introduced Winston to cat thyme, and the two of them would lie in the sun, staring at each other for hours, high as kites. It was a little like being back at uni, watching the stoners.

Here in our new home, she befriended a very old tabby, KC, who lived two doors down. He’d call her with the most agonizing, painful and extremely loud yowl, and she’d meet him in our neighbours’ garden, where they’d loll about in the long grass, watching the pigeons and parrots in the gum trees.

What Indi lacks in weight and size, she makes up for in spirit and courage. In Hawthorn, she fiercely battled the ginger cat who lived near us, unperturbed by the fact he was about four times her size. When my boy ended their first tussle with a quick squirt of the hose, she ran inside with the ginger’s claw sticking out of her head. Here, she patrols our garden each morning she goes out, doing a lap of the fence line before settling down in the sun for a nap or chasing geckos and mice. At night, she patrols our home, going from window to window to make sure it's all in order. And when the cats from across the street have the gall to sneak across her deck under the cloak of night, she fights them through the glass to let them know who's boss.

However, this courage doesn’t extend to birds, of which she has a particularly unfeline-like fear. We can usually pinpoint her location in the garden based on avarian activity. Birds gang up on her, squawking loudly and chasing her across the garden and in through the back door. She looks at us with confused embarrassment, as she slinks through the kitchen and downstairs to her domain. 

Nowhere near as openly affectionate or needy as Bella, Indi shows us she cares in her own way. Usually by sitting quietly beside my boy of an evening, back to him, letting him pat her. And while she’s clearly ‘his’ cat, if he’s away, she’ll sometimes show me the same courtesy.

An only child for several years, it took 10 months and Indi’s first head cold before she accepted Bella, who showed Indi such care and concern when she was sick that Indi couldn’t help but warm to her. Now they kiss and smooch and sniff each other with what seems to be genuine affection.

And as for Little Red? Well, Indi is curious and has sniffed her once or twice too, but we’re still waiting for the day she doesn’t flee when Little Red approaches her with a hearty “Hello”, arms flailing above her head in a wave.

Indi is not quite as feisty or adventurous as she once was (although her independence remains intact). In truth, she’s become a little quiet and nervy (I think it’s a tortoiseshell quirk, or perhaps it's just old age). She spends a lot of time indoors asleep these days, although she still demands to go out every day and will disappear for hours. She tires of the red dot game quickly, but sometimes I hear her secretly hitting one of Little Red’s balls around the dining room floor and I'm reminded of the tiny, wild ball of multicoloured fluff that we adopted seven years ago.

I don't know where the time goes. It doesn’t seem so long ago that we were driving to Broady to collect the runt of the litter, and laughing at her trying to jump up on the couch or from the couch to the coffee table when we got her home. The seven years since then have flown by, with so many changes (mostly good). And in that time, that runt has become ingrained within our family – naturally at the head of it.

Taking stock: October 2015.

I don't know about you, but the later in the year it is, the faster the time seems to go. (Unless you're 10 years old and waiting for the jolly old man in the red suit to visit and drink all of your dad's whisky in exchange for a new bike/Playstation/guitar/my little pony/whatever 10-year-old kids are into these days.)

So, with this in mind, my grand plans to regularly write here have taken second (or seventh) fiddle behind Little Red, work around the house and garden, work at work, and family and friends' functions, and the finite amount of time we all have in each day. But I'm getting there slowly, along with:

• Making: New Year’s Eve plans for Hong Kong.
• Cooking: Organic apples from the market to freeze for Little Red’s breakfast. Frittata for dinner. Beetroot from the garden to pickle for my boy.
• Drinking: A big, big mug of strong, proper caffeinated chai to stave off my inclination for a nap. White tea. Green tea. Cider (it’s getting a wee bit warm for whisky).
• Reading: Buddhism for mothers of young children (I bit the bullet and started reading this after I’d finished Don’t you forget about me, a pretty good trashy chick lit novel). I fell asleep two pages in. Not because it was boring, but because I am so very, very tired and couldn’t keep my eyes open.
• Wanting: More sleep. More tea. More writing and reading time. Someone to pay me to sit on my deck and drink tea, write, read and garden.
• Looking: Forward, ever so much, to hanging with my UK family. My cousin has set up this chat thing on Facebook for us all to update each other on important things like whisky drinking, what's for breakfast and tea, party plans, what we’re watching and so forth. It’s pretty fun (and pointless). My uncle and aunty have learnt to send pictures, videos and emoticons, and they’ve all ganged up against me not wanting to watch the new Star Wars movie. My brother also told me he’s all over making our Christmas booze (homemade bramble whisky, raspberry vodka and sloe gin). And we’ve planned to eat takeaway for Christmas lunch and dinner (a traditional Christmas feast at his place). I think I’ll need a good dose of St Mary’s Thistle (a liver tonic) when I get home.
• Playing: Bubbles. Endless bubbles. Little Red’s fave thing to do right now.
• Deciding: What posh hotel to book for New Year’s Eve.
• Wishing: We were billionaires and could stay in the super posh hotels with stunning suites and harbor views that I’ve found online. (Not really. But they do look amazing.)
• Enjoying: Little Red’s sleep time. She’s full of beans at the moment. My boy and I are completely exhausted.
• Waiting: For the storm that’s due today, so I don’t have to water the garden.
• Liking: Sitting here quietly on the deck, not too hot, not too cold, slight breeze in the trees, birds chatting, a hazy light over the treetops and across the land. It’s rather pleasant. Quiet and peaceful.
• Wondering: Whether I’ll still be in my job at the end of the year (they still haven’t finalised or publicised restructuring plans). Ah well, it reminds me of this song I love.
• Loving: 99 monkey’s hazelnut cacao spread. Nutella-like heaven and chocolatey nutty bliss in a convenient jar!
• Pondering: Whether or not to refinance our home loan. All the experts say you should review it at least every five years, but it seems like rather hard work.
• Considering: Whether or not to bite the bullet and start freelancing and clinical work.
• Buying: All sorts of goodies from the market, including a big bag of apples and lemons, broccoli, eggs, 99 monkey’s peanut butter and hazelnut cacao spread, Lebanese and long cucumber seedlings to grow for Little Red, and a large soy chai latte for me. (That’s what happens when my boy leaves me to solo parent on market day!)
• Watching:
 An array of trashy new US crime- and spy-related shows, like Limitless and Quantico. Also still loving 800 words and HYBPA. Actually, the latter are still my current favourites. Wanting to watch Indian summers and Home fires. They look right up my alley.
• Hoping: Little Red has a big, big, big nap.
• Marvelling: At my good friend’s new baby. She’s three and a bit weeks old, and so tiny and beautiful. I don’t remember Little Red being that small and fragile.
• Needing: Motivation to do stuff (other than drink tea, eat chocolate and nap).
• Questioning: Whether or not I need to fill in ALL of the points in this Taking stock template (I think the answer I’m looking for is: no).
• Smelling: Like rosemary still, I'm sure (I whipped the hedges into shape).
• Wearing: Happy pants and a singlet top (seriously, it’s almost summer – this is my standard uniform on any given day I’m not at work. And some days I am at work).
• Following: A new Deepak meditation series starting in November. I was in the middle of one when I had Little Red, didn’t finish it, and haven’t done one since (they are a bit time consuming). Wish me luck!
• Noticing: I can actually function relatively well if I go to bed before 10pm. Duh.
• Knowing: I should go to bed before 10pm.
• Thinking: It’s not long til our trip and I need to get a million things done beforehand. (See Needing above…)
• Admiring: People who have the willpower to not eat everything in sight. 
• Sorting: Out my tax return (finally).
• Getting: Excited about the long weekend (in Melbourne). We’re spending it with my folks in Wodonga, which means I get to forget the mess here for a few days (see Disliking below).
• Bookmarking: This four ingredient no bake banana bread blondie recipe and tourist guides on what to do while we’re in Hong Kong on the homeward leg of our trip.
• Coveting: Child-free people’s spare time.
• Disliking: All the weeds in the garden and how untidy the house is. I remember the glorious (pre-child) days of spotlessness, cleanliness, organisation, structure and spare time. Sigh.
• Giggling: At the randomness of stuff Little Red does every day.
• Feeling: Grateful. And hayfevery.
• Snacking: On 99 monkey’s hazelnut cacao spread by the (multiple table)spoonful.
• Hearing: A lot of birds out here. And people revving cars. It’s like I’m in a zoo or bird park or something at Phillip Island.