Life has been busy, and somewhat tumultuous of late. My dearest friend came to stay for two weeks shortly after I moved in. We had a marvelous time visiting local castles and historic sites, and generally chilling out. It was a holiday for me, as well, after the frenzied activity of buying the house in a week, moving and sorting out a long list of unexpected issues. In my local area (the north east of Portugal), there are the most amazing castles and historic sites, in the most extraordinary locations, freely available to all. You drive right up to them, there are no official car parks, and nothing to pay. Just as it should be, as these places are our heritage. Everywhere we went, we were the only visitors. As my friend has a direct line of communication to other dimensions, we had fun tuning into the guardians of these sites, the energy, lay lines and more. We were also given amazing information about the region, and the Templar history here. Fascinating!

In between her visit and the next friend, more work was done on the house. As a result of an infestation of ants (on the surfaces in the kitchen, the walls, the floor and on me), all the cracks in interior and exterior walls were filled to block their entry and exit points. Then came a flash flood which revealed problems in the roof, when water poured through the ceiling in two rooms. I also had a significant (size and expense) water filtration system installed, after discovering the local water contains 8 times the safe limit of manganese and well above the safe limit of iron.

After the second friend left, there was a gap to begin scouting the local countryside in search of land for the Earth Collective project. As there is almost nothing advertised online, I decided on a personal marketing strategy, driving around, dropping leaflets into local cafes, petrol stations and community centres, to alert the locals as to what I was looking for. There is plenty of land for sale, it’s just not on the internet. This is because many of the older generation (the majority of land owners) are not literate, a result of zero public education during the dictatorship years. Quite a shocking discovery. My sister arrived for a week, after that and we had a lovely time walking, swimming, exploring and catching up on life and times. So much social activity is unusual for me (in fact, any at all is unusual). I live in solitude and splendid isolation most of the time. But sharing my new abode with others was a joy, and helped me to feel at home.

Since I moved, the weather has been hot (up to 40 degrees at times, but typically around the mid 30s). Thankfully, the heat is dry and much easier to cope with than the humid north, where I was living previously. Also, as the house is traditional, it has massively thick walls and shutters on the windows, which helps to keep things cool – ish! Even so, I caved into a special request from one of my guests, and purchased a couple of large fans for the hottest days. Actually, I like the heat. I like the certainly of wearing shorts and a vest every day, the feeling of the sun on my skin, not to mention sitting topless on the patio eating breakfast before it gets too hot!

Amidst all of this pleasantness, however, disaster struck. Between the second and third visitor, I lost my beloved feline companion, Nina.

”I have news”, I wrote to a friend. “Sad news. Nina is no longer with me. The dogs took her. A week ago, late at night, I heard frenzied barking in the field behind the house. Several dogs were hunting in a pack. I went out and chased them away. The next morning, Nina wasn't anywhere to be seen. She hadn't been in to eat, or slept in her chair. Then the penny dropped. My heart sank when I realised what must have happened. I searched for her in the searing heat all day but I knew she had gone. After three days of mourning, I did a ceremony to honour her life and our special relationship.

The dogs belong to the local shepherd. I felt compelled to write to her about Nina’s fate. Such a beautiful and intelligent cat, athletic and young. I felt sick to my core at the thought of her life ending that way, and simply couldn’t let her passing be in vain. Just before it happened, she had followed me to the sunset seat for the first time, and we watched the sun go down together. Once she got over the stress of moving, she was in her element here - an intrepid warrior queen and an avid hunter. That’s how I will remember her. She slept during the day and went out at night. Sadly, neither of us understood the risk posed by the roaming village dogs. This part of Portugal is remote and traditional, and different to anywhere I have been before. I am learning.

I’m OK now. But the silence is deafening. I am sending you the letter I wrote to the shepherd (in Portuguese).”

...”Good evening, I believe my beloved cat was harmed or killed by your dogs. I cannot prove it but the circumstances support it. Last Sunday evening, three nights after I wrote to ask if you would keep your dogs at home in the evenings, I heard loud and frenzied barking behind my house. Your dogs were hunting in the adjoining field. I shouted at them and sent them away. It was 10 or 11 pm and my cat had just gone outside. I didn’t see her again. Your dogs had been coming to my house and the field next to it, on a regular basis, barking until the early hours of the morning (as I explained in my previous letter). I imagine my cat was either badly injured and couldn’t come back (she could not have survived in the heat), or she was killed. I have searched but been unable to find her. I am distraught. I loved her so much.

So, I ask you again, please would you restrain your dogs at night, so they do not wander through the village. It is a reasonable request. Not just for my sake, but for others too. I am aware that children visiting the village are afraid of your dogs. My sister is visiting and wants to bring her dog. I can’t let her if your dogs are roaming. It isn’t safe.

I don’t wish to create a problem. I came to the village to live peacefully with the community and enjoy the extraordinary landscape. I see how hard you work and I admire you and your connection with the land. What you have here is special and the land is precious. However, things cannot continue as they are. With only 35 elderly residents, the village is dying. If you wish to attract new people, it will most likely be people like me who are not Portuguese but wish to live a simple life, with respect for the land and the people. I have friends who might like to come to this beautiful village, but they will not come if there is danger to their children or their animals, or continual barking late at night and in the early hours of the morning.

I am sure you have always let your dogs roam and bark, and probably do not see why anything should change. However, I am sad and disappointed that, after my first letter, the problem continued. I would have preferred to talk to you in person but, as you know, I do not yet speak Portuguese. (I am leaving food for your cats, which I can no longer use.)”

That was that, I didn’t intend to take any further action. I had explained the situation and put my request out there. I felt I had been true to myself in expressing what I felt and, at the same time, honoured Nina. I would not hold a grudge against the shepherd. Every time I walked past her house (the route of my evening walk), I would hold the intention of wishing her well. We all had to live together and I did not want there to be a lingering bad vibe. Ironically, when I moved into the village, it occurred to me that I had bought more than a house. I had bought into a family (literally, they are all related). A family, I didn’t know. And now, my experience of family dynamics was being put to the test.

Two weeks later, just before my sister’s visit, something incredible happened. At midnight, I was candle-gazing before turning in for the night, when I heard a squeak. I had been on high alert for squeaks since Nina left, but every time I thought I heard something, it was a door creaking, or the wind whistling. This time the squeak, though quiet, was very close. I shot up and ran into the kitchen, and blinked hard to check I wasn’t hallucinating. It was Nina. There was not a scratch on her. She very lean but not starving, like a tiger in the wild, and had obviously put her hunting skills to good use. She was exhausted, very stressed and a little lame. I had put all her things away (though, thankfully, not yet sent back the most recent feed order). I scrambled to get her stuff from the basement, and find the food.

She ate, and ate and ate some more – a whole tin of pate, a raw egg and a bowl of biscuits in quick succession, on high alert, looking behind her, all the time. After sitting with her for hours, grooming her, stroking her, talking to her and doing healing on her, she was a little calmer. So I went to bed, leaving my bedroom door open (not a luxury she wasn’t previously granted). Needless to say, I got no sleep at all as she lay on top of me, went back and fore to the kitchen for more food, and squeaked, seeking reassurance.

What a brave girl. She escaped the dogs, but either ran so far in panic that she was lost and took two weeks to find her way back. Or, she was in hiding and scared to return any sooner. Either way, it's a miracle. I am counting my blessings….and so is Nina!

***

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