Leah & Judah

Once settled, I thought I’d have no stories to tell about the embroidered pieces of fabric. Well, I do. Not traveling does not mean that nothing happens. Yet, this story behind this pouch is rather sad.

This piece of fabric is dyed with black walnut. It is stitched with a Japanese kogin pattern. The design was meant to try out a more intricate pattern. Just one pattern. Instead, I duplicated the same pattern repeatedly until the fabric was filled. Consequently, a lot happened over the course of this piece of embroidered fabric.

Not only did I try a lot of preserving of home-grown veggies. I also had a new experience with our cats. They chose to walk with me to my favourite spot in the woods.

At first, I was not so eager to have them hopping and skirting along. Their tongues dangled worriedly far out. Their fur was as spread as impressive as possible. Indeed, they’d become two bold kittens, discovering the hemisphere.

I sat embroidering in the woods in the early morning. I had a thermos of chai and breakfast with me. Meanwhile, they would roam the direct surrounding. When I’d call for them, they’d come tiptoeing.

After a while they got more confidence and would jump trees, hunt for feathers and lazily lie around. My energy would build up. Soon I would go back to plough the plot. I would sow the seeds and pluck the produce.

They’d walked back, always with a bravura unknown to cats, all the while I carried a huge smile. I’d laughed and felt joyful.

My worries about cats tagging along had changed into a pleasurable happening, and indeed I did enjoy it. My husband and I would go for walks with the cats: they needed no encouragement.

Of course, you can feel what’s coming next.

Correct. As much as they walked into the forest, they walked out of our lives.

Just like that.

Off they were. One after another, three nights in between. First the girl, one day before her sterilization. Then the brother, a few days after his vaccination, a month after his castration.

Worried. Offended. Surprised. A bit angered: ‘How can they just walk out of our lives? We loved them.’ Doubting our care: ‘Did we give them too much of an inferior quality of food?’ We searched the area. We told people about our cats gone (on an adventure of their own). One person uttered the existence of golden jackals. And indeed I heard calls of animals I could not place as foxed nor dogs howling out. (Years later, we found out it is our German neighbour who has a hand in the disappearance of all our cats.)