Making me an accessory to murder I can forgive, just layoff my mask, Cat...
Iam looking at one of my new masks, wondering if I’m edgy enough to wear it. It is one of three, made by a very kind reader who only got one of the out of print books in return. It has a sort of Mexican skull motif and reminds me of a jacket The Youngest bought in an uber cool shop in Kilkenny. She’s already taken my favourite of the three — because literally, that appears to be what she was put on this earth to do — and when I consult her about my general edginess, she issues a reminder of where we are: ‘it’s not a fashion statement; it’s a mask’.
Except these days, masks are the only fashion statements we get to make. On the basis that masks remind me of everything that is awful, I resisted the fabric ones for a long time. But I hated the disposable ones as well, and on the basis that I quite like the planet and would like there to be a bit of it left to enjoy when this is all over, I didn’t like putting all that plastic into the bin. I washed the disposable ones for a while, until I nearly choked on a bit of fluff that worked its way into my mouth while I was driving. And I didn’t want to wear a disposable mask for my brother’s funeral — actually, there is no part of that sentence that I ever wanted to happen — so I bought a plain black mask for that. Once I realised how much more breathable the fabric ones were, I bought a couple more. A flowery one. And a nicer flowery one which The Youngest took. And now I have three — well, two — really nice, proper designer ones, courtesy of my reader. I now own more masks than I do shoes.
And people do admire them, don’t they? I have looked at strangers in shops and instead of screaming ‘we’re all doomed’ in my inner voice, I’ve thought ‘that’s a nice mask’. And I’ve heard people complimenting each other on their face coverings, even asking where they got them. Instead of just covering up Edward Munch style silent screams, masks have become something we actually put some effort into. On Christmas Day, when my family gathered in my mother’s garden, I noticed we were all wearing our best masks. Well, it was Christmas.
Meanwhile, I feel the need to correct a misapprehension that I may have inadvertently propogated last week, when I suggested that nature is in some way a positive force during this time. It is not. Like everything else, nature is terrible.
The Cat has killed a bird. If you’d asked me last Friday, I’d have said that cat has been our salvation these past few months, the unexpected glue that’s held our shattered family together. By Saturday lunchtime I’d revised my view to Killer Bitch Who’s Not Sleeping On My Bed Anymore.
Her crime was compounded by the fact that the unfortunate bird was feeding from the tray of birdseed I’d just put out, making me an accessory to murder. Anyway, the terrible cat ate half the unfortunate bird and then left the rest for me to pick up. I had just put on a disposable glove, the better to sweep the crime scene, when a horrible magpie swooped and did my clean-up for me. All told, it was a half hour of extremely intense nature and I wasn’t the better for it.
The Cat, on the other hand, appeared to have forgotten all about her atrocity within minutes; her poor prey’s only lasting legacy a small scratch on her nose which I was delighted to see. I gave her several hard stares while she slept away the rest of the day, demanding out loud if she had ‘a conscience at all.’ ‘You can’t project human values on nature,’ counselled The Youngest, who, since starting at Trinity College has used the words “hubris” and “egregious” in conversation and who robs masks. The Dog never killed anyone, I countered, and then we both remembered that this wasn’t strictly true, as he had a penchant for eating bees, which we always thought a high-risk habit and a possible example of his canine hubris leading to egregious results.
Anyway, I have broadly forgiven The Cat. She is allowed on my bed again — not that she noticed she ever wasn’t — and our relationship has returned to its factory settings of me constantly hugging her and talking to her in a baby voice and she barely acknowledging my existence. At least she hasn’t started robbing my masks. Oh, but give her time.