Growing Up and Becoming an Adult

Lately I've become increasingly aware of time slipping through my fingers with not just me, but everyone else around me, growing up and becoming an 'adult'. 

I'm not ashamed to admit that being referred to as an 'adult' has, at times, caused an odd and unexpected wave of panic to rush through my brain and forced me to acknowledge the fact that I am an actual, real-life, official grown up.  I think that a lot of that panic boils down to the fact that I spend more time watching Disney movies than watching documentaries, reading Roald Dahl books instead of listening to Radio 2 and wearing blouses that feature cat-face pockets instead of blouses without cat-face pockets.

 

Cat-face pockets - the pinnacle of my existence to date!

Essentially, it's like my whole being is rebelling against the prospect of admitting that I am, in fact, a grown up now and have been for the last however many years or so. 

Of course there are plenty of great things about being an adult such as not having to have a curfew (I still get a buzz out of staying up past 10 o'clock on a Sunday night.  I'm a rebel through and through.), being independent and, most importantly, having the space and freedom to define yourself and figure out exactly who you are.

The adult world is scary though, when things go wrong you can't blame them on anyone else but yourself and long gone are the days when your parents would write you notes to get you out of PE (or in my case, to tell my school that I was allergic to the mashed potato served in our school canteen*) or pick you up from school when you felt ill.  This being said, it also forces you to take ownership for yourself, when things go wrong you, and only you, can rectify the situation and vice versa, when things are going well, you know that you achieved that success all by yourself which can be a very powerful feeling. 

However, just because I, or anyone reading this post (all two of your probably!), may be considered part of the 'grown up community', it doesn't mean that we can't still acknowledge those things that brought us joy in our younger years - for example, have you tried reading 'Alice in Wonderland' through adult eyes?  It's like a whole new experience, a weird and slightly darker one, but a new experience nonetheless.

So, if you ask me, it's all about growing up in the least adult way possible by not cutting out what made you happy in days gone by, and so if that means that you'd rather listen to 'Now That's What I Call Disney' instead of Radio 2 then hats off to you, because you truly are the best kind of grown up!

*Disclaimer:  I wasn't actually allergic to mashed potato, I just did not appreciate the lumps in it, although I'm pretty sure that the dinner ladies were on to me about this as the replacement for the mashed potato was one huge, under boiled potato instead!  Those pesky school dinner ladies! 

Hey, Guess What? I'm 22 And I Still Miss My Cat

Today marks six months since my cat passed away and I honestly can't believe how long it's been. Some people may not get it, most likely people who have never had a pet, but I have found it pretty hard getting over the loss of my cat.

I got her when I was seven just coming up to eight and she was a part of my childhood, teen years and early adulthood, she was a huge chapter of my life. Unfortunately all chapters have to come to an end and that's probably the hardest part because deep down we convince ourselves that the chapter will never end but sadly, the end is inevitable.

I don't want to make this post too sad because there's no need for it to be. I know that I will never forget Dasher, she was my first ever cat, my first ever proper pet, she was there for me when school was too much, friends were being mean and my parents were annoyed at me, she was my constant - and I'll always miss that.

She was also ridiculously cute with the most amazingly quirky personality, from having her 'crazy episodes', where for no reason she would just start randomly running up and down the stairs, to working out how to open doors, no big deal but she was kind of a genius. She wasn't the most affectionate cat and definitely not a lap cat, she was born a stray so it wasn't really in her nature but it just meant that when she did show affection, it counted more to me. I remember last summer when I was feeling particularly down after a difficult day and it was completely out of character for her but she jumped up next to me on the sofa and snuggled up against my leg and fell asleep, she did this two nights in a row, two nights when I'd been feeling rubbish. Another time was when I came home from uni and I'd been feeling quite homesick that week and she jumped up on the sofa again and fell asleep against me with her paw over me. It's little things like that which mean more when they don't normally happen.

Anyway, I may be 22 and expected to act all mature and stuff but honestly? I miss my cat a lot and I don't think I'll ever stop missing her. I'm just thankful that she was my family's cat and that I got to have her in my life. She was, quite simply, the best cat ever.

Pope Cat. I was bored. She was unimpressed.

Caaaa-ute

Sleeping like a people. How is that even comfortable?

Best cat ever? I THINK SO!