Oscar is Lost

French village cats are tough customers.  Street wise and sly, crafty and confident they slink and swagger about the streets as if they own them - which they do, to a large extent. They have learned to fend for themselves, fight with dogs, avoid traffic and feed themselves from wheelie bins. They seem mostly to be unsterilised and intact, producing  a couple of litters a year at least.  

Oscar, on the other hand, is a well behaved, nicely brought up cat unaccustomed to life in the gutter.  Inexperienced, apart from a couple of run-ins with the neighbours' cat in Australia, we felt he was ill equipped to deal with the pugilistic lifestyle second nature to the alley cats of the Med, and decided to keep him in the house.  He seemed fine with it and disinterested in outdoors.

 

This was going well until one night when we returned home a bit late from dinner at neighbours Danny and Russell's house, and full of curry and VRAC, failed to notice Oscar had slipped out of the house as we were locking up.  Off to bed we went.

 

Early in the morning, I woke suddenly and realised Oscar was not in his usual morning position i.e. on my chest loudly purring the 'get up and feed me, slacker' purr.  Where was he?  A search of the house revealed he was not home.  Alex joined me in a second search and it slowly dawned on us that he must have sneaked out last night and been locked out all night.  With all those French alley cats.

 

We rushed out and frantically started to look for him.  We combed the streets all morning, feeling sicker by the minute. What if he'd been run over? What if he'd been stolen? We had been warned he was 'trop beau' and would be a prize trophy.  What if he were trapped somewhere where nobody could hear his cries?  What if, what if..  We tried to think 'he's a cat, he'll turn up' but didn't manage at all well.

 

We thought surely Roly and Pepper would find him. They set off all alert and determined - definitely on the trail of something - and lead us straight to a left over pizza dropped in Place Charles de Gaulle.  They were immediately relegated home.  

We bumped into Louis, the local policeman - Pomerols has just the one.  He was very kind and said he'd do an announcement from the Mairie PA, which he did, requesting news of a 'gros chat blanc' - 'gros' is big in French, not fat, though Oscar fits both descriptions.  This made us feel sad, not hopeful, however.

We made some Lost (Perdu) posters, which was awful as I hate to see them in the streets and always wonder where the poor pet is and how the poor owners are feeling, and of course dreaded having to resort to a Lost poster myself. We knocked on doors, asked around and continued to patrol the village. 

 

The village children quickly found out Oscar was missing and embraced the hunt with boundless enthousiasm, especially Gabriel (age 8) who probably reads a great deal of Tin Tin or the French equivalent of Secret Seven or Famous Five and decided he was going to find a trail of white fur and track Oscar down this way.  He requested his own copy of the Lost poster and gathered a band of acolytes who set off for the search on assorted bikes and scooters.

It got dark and then it got darker. No sign of Oscar.  We thought about going to bed and leaving the front door ajar in case Oscar found his way miraculously home.  We realised we wouldn't be able to sleep too well, so set of for one final search with a torch and a tin of Whiskas.  It was around midnight, and we bumped into Danny and Russell who told us they could hear a cat mewing near the Mairie.  We conducted a thorough search, to no avail.  Miserable, I wandered off down a side street shining my torch under cars and gates.  And then suddenly, there was Oscar!  Huddled in a recess in a wall to a garden - we had looked there a dozen times that day.  He must have been hiding, too scared to come out during the day. I scooped him up and rushed him home. He was frightened and dirty but nothing else.  We had probably (almost certainly) been more bothered than him by his disappearence.  But he was glad to be home, and Roly and Pepper were delighted to see him.  We were never so grateful, and still are.

 

Early the next morning Gabriel was ringing the door bell to announce his latest scheme for finding Oscar, which seemed to involve trails of crumbs and secret chalk marks on buildings. We told him the good news. He seemed pleased but requested proof - so we booked Oscar in for an official appearance in front of the search party, which would be accompanied by cup cakes for all.

Several hours and dozens of cup cakes later, everyone was happy.  Especially Gabriel who had collected white fur, a Lost poster, a band of followers and a reputation as village sleuth.  How was he going to occupy his days now, though?  He rang the door bell a bit later to let me know he'd be happy to show me how to improve my cup cakes.....

Is the Shopping Better in Britain...or am I just living in the Sticks??

Buying a house inevitably entails buying things for it.  Some things like Liquid Nails and paint are not so terribly exciting, although they do promise change for the better. Other things like sofas and chandeliers are utterly thrilling (at least to me) and merit considerable thought and planning.

 

Given our budget for furnishings, it's a good thing that I adore old stuff and that the prospect of weilding sand paper and a paint brush around a bedside cabinet purchased for 4 euros from the car boot sale deprives me of sleep through sheer excitement.  I didn't realise, though, that my passion for brocante, chineur, vide grenier, Emmaus, skip trawling etc. was also going to be practically my only choice for furnishing our home - apart from Ikea, that is. 

Much as I love and admire Ikea, and am terribly grateful there is one a 30 minute hop down the road, I don't want an entire house decked out courtesy of our Swedish ally.  I want choice, the ability to select from a range of suppliers and outlets, the possibility of comparing one rug / dining chair / console with another.  I would like a broad spectrum of bedding options and kick-ass kitchen ware selections. I'd prefer the idea of choosing between roman blinds, shutters, curtains, sheers, panel glides, venetians etc. to be a clear and present challenge rather than a distant memory.  In my personal opinion fabric should be offered in more than toile, stripes and 80's florals.

 

I never thought I would actively miss Pillow Talk, Freedom, Domayne, Kitchen World and Spotlight quite so acutely.  Not to mention Rugs-a-Million!! What I wouldn't give for a Rugs-a-Million now.  And these are Australian shops. I couldn't even begin to list the home furnishing options on offer in the UK - there, it's best to decide on your decorating style before leaving home in order to thus target the appropriate retailers, never mind wondering if there will be any duvet covers on the shelves actually available to buy as I do here. 

I like Maisons du Monde, I really do.  The furniture section of Galeries Lafayette is lovely for lofts and hotel particuliers.  A store called But presents an impressive selection of items almost exclusively upholstered in Union Jacks and Eiffel towers.  The rugs at 

Décor are all polypropelene and they had NO hall runners.  I am not fond of pimp style leather furniture so that elimiates Chateau d'Ax.  Where else do I go? I am sure there are places I don't yet know about or have not heard of.  I am becoming prepared to drive to Lyon or Marseille for a shopping fix and would hire a van, too!  I realise of course the plethora of possibility available on line and may just have to settle for that, although it's quite nice to wander around a few department stores and then have a sustaining snack, something on line won't ever supply. 

 

 

Shopping isn't all furniture and homewares, either.  Clothes are nice to buy. Alex needs new clothes to match his new slimline shape.  And shoes. His feet haven't changed size but co-ordinating shoes are good.  Mercifully the clothing options are marginally better here and Odysseum or Polygone can usually drum up some interesting offers.  But don't go looking for singlets or shorts out of season and put aside all thoughts of stylish, statement shoes of novel design.  Brown and black with laces rule.  Or boots.

I'm going to London soon.  I can feel a lengthy visit to Top Shop, Heals and Habitat coming on.  I might even get on a train and go to the Metro Centre, just down the road from my parent's house near Durham.  Really wish I hadn't booked a baggage free Ryan Air ticket now...