At forty, dancing with cats will do.

I had a hissy fit at work the other day. With some hindsight there were some decisions made I was not a Happy Jan about, but with further hindsight, (which is different) there was basically the fact that fifteen years there dealing with recurring problems had suddenly made me feel jaded, tired, and old.

I don’t often feel old. Despite always claiming I was ‘born forty’ I’ve never equated that with feeling cynical, over it, past it or anything else negative. Instead I’ve equated ‘feeling forty’ with a kind of ease-of-self and earthiness combined with a love of glamour and capricious behaviour; for me forty always seemed delicious and a little bit naughty. Sexy in fact.
So it’s with some surprise that I finally catch up to myself and hit forty come April. If given free reign and not in love with a man I would be wearing a Waratah print dress and writing a ‘love column’ for a schlock newspaper somewhere up around Hat-Head Bay.

If still just living with ‘the Captain’ we would be celebrating at Aqua e Vino with some big dollars splurged on feeding our friends cocktails from a three-hundred page drinks menu whilst a Swing Band played. As a Fair, Fat and Forty Mum I’m instead going to a gastro-pub near a beach with twenty people, passing the bub on to my parents after dinner, then having drinks and tunes in a funky little back-bar of the pub.

And hey- I’ll dance, shamelessly and drunkenly. It will be my night but I’ll try to be gracious, share my toys and say ‘please’ and ‘thank-you’. I’ll dance with my man, and some very old chums (I can say that now in truth and not offence!) and then I’ll come home silly and dance some more.

And if all the people go home too soon I’ll go out back, to the deck and garden in the home I’ve made (because I’m forty) and I’ll seductively call in Damage-Cat (because I’m wily) and dance with him amongst the spinach and hops plants.

He’s my fifth cat (because I’m forty) but he doesn’t know that. He knows the moon, the night, my perfume and what it is to be both domestic and feral.
He’ll just press his furry cheek against mine (because I’m lovely) and purr as we dance.