Thinking. Coming back again from Riga, Latvia, and a trip back in time. To my childhood and my cats.

How I loved them…and most of all Måns. Måns was my favourite… and only Mine. He was shocking black, and he lived a short summer at my grandmother’s.

This is not my grandmother’s house…but it could have been…

This is not my grandmother, sitting outside her house, waiting for me…but in my dreams, she still is.

Her cat, Rose (Rosa in Swedish), was rather wild – but I didn’t realise that. I always felt sorry for her…having to stay outside and never coming indoors for some warmth and cuddling. So, one day I let her in.

I should never have done that…I should have listened to my grandmother’s words. Rose went totally wild and scared when let inside. Of course I had closed the door – didn’t want her to disappear out again. But she was in shock and fiercely climbing the curtains, scratching and screaming…

My grandmother came inside and let her out. She never said a word about it…because she knew my heart. This chaos was punishment enough…and I was so ashamed…

Strange, how faded memories come back to you, when triggered by something you somehow recognize or remember. A house, an atmosphere, a tune, a voice, a word, a place…a cat.

And suddenly those old memories seem crystal clear again. They are just lingering there, in the shadowy, hidden corners of your mind…waiting.

And isn’t that just wonderful.

Måns? He disappeared the same day my school started again after that summer vacation. Grandmother told me. He had followed my steps, down the road and away to school. Never to be seen again.

He was charcoal black.