Becoming a crazy cat lady in Malta

Attard, Malta
Like a broken record, I replay those final moments in my head as my stupidity was almost laughable. I had done the climb before but I never considered the consequences of not using a stick clip. Having gone from fearing the first bolt to happily soloing to it in just under a month, I felt confident and strong.

I suppose the blame can’t be placed squarely on me – in times like those the line between wanting to push past (at times) unreasonable fear/personal limits and blatant disregard for danger is blurred to obscurity.

It has been another week now and while the baking experiments have been equally entertaining and fulfilling, I yearn for the touch of sweet limestone once again. I fear that should I not return to climbing soon I will morph into a crazy cat lady, as patting cats has become part of my daily repertoire.

While weekly visits to the physio sees my bank account trickle slowly downwards, I am comforted knowing I am in good hands. You see, my physiotherapist is the same gentleman who treats Malta’s football team. What a lucky girl I am. Thanks to him, not only has my painful wincing with every step decreased, I can now hobble more than 30 seconds without buckling over.

I feel fortunate to have all the cats catch my attention during my hobbles and vegetative state on the couch. Of course, I am there to cater to their every whim, from filling their bowls to opening the door for them to curl up onto my bed at 5am in the morning.
This one wailed until my cuddles soothed her wallowing. We had never met before but I soon fell in love and feel that I must own one or two, or three soon. Hmm.. I probably should get out.




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