Expectation.

coming soon

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Wanted.

Cat shaped hole isn’t going away. I’ve been looking around in various homes and catteries for a little furry reject that would like to come and live with us. I don’t want a kitten but a cat that needs a fresh start with a warm sofa to spread out on and some nice wallpaper on the walls to shred.
I’m putting a shout out to any cat who would like to take up residence with a bonkers lady artist and her tribe of cat mad children and a nice big dog that needs a small furry boss.
Please come and find us, we’ll take you in and you will be so loved.
cat advert

Mona Lisa.

mona lisa
This is the lovely shop assistant that I tolerated today. I had the misfortune of having to pay for a tee shirt and she had to press some buttons on her till. She was not enjoying her day in the shop, I think the combination of the blaring thump of the techno and my face was interrupting her daydream of a red carpet appearance.
In spite of her sulking I kept my cheery demeanour and all was going well until I focused on her eyebrows.
I couldn’t even do them justice in my drawing. I think her real ones were in there somewhere screaming to be released.

Fifteen years.

She draws, she loves jaffa cakes and has the biggest heart going. Happy birthday Millie, I think we need more room for all our sketchbooks.
millie 15[1921]

Sun’s out…

…dog’s out.
spider dog

Maffs.

maffs
Can’t be shown, won’t be shown. Has to learn it himself. Can’t think who on earth he gets that from.

Home-coming.

Brought Arnie’s ashes home today. We’re going to buy a plant and put him in the garden where he liked to sit in the sun and watch the sparrows chirp.
Spring is coming.
home coming

Arnie. A lifetime in my sketchbook.

Here is a life lived in washing piles and fluffy toys. A life that padded out gently last week but never ever will be forgotten. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed drawing them. Break the internet with cat drawings and purry love.

Goodbye.

Arnie passed away yesterday, we’re in bits. Cat shaped hole in my heart.
Sleep well my furry friend, I love you.
We love you so much.

Hunted.

Got chased by ferel children in the woods. Jumped over fallen trees, scrambled through branches, hauled myself through mud. Their cries of “feed me Macdonalds ” grew more desparate the more I ran.
My breath grew heavy as I clawed my way up the mossy bank, rain drenching my clothes and hair, my Boots make up freshly applied that morning smearing my mud streaked cheeks.
I threw the dog in the car and screeched out of the car park desparate to escape.
As I drew up to the traffic lights, a small, bony hand grasped my shoulder and hissed, “There is no escape”.
The struggle is real this Easter. Send wine, send gin, I am hunted by children on holiday.
hunted at easter

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