He used to hang suspended from the ceiling. This was when he felt most comfortable. But he had little thought for anyone who was arachnophobic. 

      Twm was lucky to have lived as long as he did. If he had lived in any other house but ours, then his life would almost certainly have been cut short. To be honest, Twm came very close to it on many occasions, especially when people came to visit.

      A sign hangs from a wall in our home which reads ‘Don’t squish Twm! Don't eat Twm! He doesn’t bite (not much) and he belongs here in this home for waifs and strays!’

     Twm did what most spiders did and cleaned up after him, which is more than I can say for some people. He would roll up his old web before starting on another. This saved cleaning time for me also. However, Twm did shed his skin from time to time which my kind and unassuming husband described as revolting.

      Now Twm would scuttle about the house late at night when he thought we couldn’t see him...but we could! It was hard to miss those eight hairy legs and four sets of eyes. He became quite a character and we looked out for him.

      We always knew when Twm was around; our visitors would shout for help and occasionally scream when he was found hanging about in the bath.

       I remember once, when Twm ran across the room in front of our guests (now remember, that Twm was larger than most spiders, probably because he ate so much).  Anyway, Twm stopped dead, right in front of them. Legs flew off the floor and muffled screams filled the room.

       ‘He’s not staring you out,’ I said, though he did have eight eyes, ‘he’s just exhausted. It’s what spiders do!’

         We often thought that Twm had died, when he disappeared for long periods. But then he’d surprise us by scurrying across the floor whilst we were watching television. He would stop now and then to catch his breath and to give us a nod. I’m sure that if Twm could have talked, then he would have said, ‘I’ll be back now in a minute!’

It never ceases to amaze me why people are afraid of these facinating creatures. Their fangs are too small to bite through human skin (but I guess they would, given half a chance) and their blood is blue for heaven’s sake...Royalty!   And of course, they have a heart. So take heart next time you go to squish a spider....it could be a relative of Twm’s.

Rosie was born on the wild and rugged Welsh moors, a place where the weather could be cruel and unrelenting. She hunted for her meals in conditions that would make a domestic cat cringe and she knew every trick in the book. Rosie grew up to be untamed and untrusting. But she got old and sick and hunting for food became a difficult task. Her old bones ached with arthritis and her eyesight became weaker.  Winter was coming and poor Rosie knew that unless she found another place to live, she would never live to see spring.

      All through the autumn, Rosie searched for a new home. She dragged herself down from the moors and into the village. People lived in the village, people that Rosie never trusted. She watched them through blurred eyes.

      Rosie laid low during the day and hunted in the evening for her new home. Her tummy rumbled and her body ached. Soon the rain would come and what would happen to her then?

      Night after night she peeped through windows and watched people she didn’t trust.  She saw cats, real cats, just like herself, being touched and picked up, agh!!!!! Just the thought of it scared her almost to death. But they looked happy and they had food, f..o..o..d! She was so hungry and cold.

      Winter came and so did the rain. Rosie walked through the village to the very last house. It was on a small hill and looked dark and empty. She had no other choice but to shelter from the rain.

       There were no people and no sign of any cats but there was a way in.  She did what she saw other cats do and pushed at a small door in the wall. But no sooner had she entered a house for the very first time when she darted straight back out. It smelt. Oh dear it smelt! Not an awful smell, just a different smell to the wild moors and the woodlands and it was warm, like summer. 

        The rain thickened and the wind began to howl, she would try again. This time she stood for awhile in the strange room. It was dark but she prowled cautiously through the house searching and praying for food. There was none so she fell exhausted onto the warmest bed she had ever known and slept, knowing that she would never live in the wild again.

         A miracle happened! She woke up to find a bowl of milk and a dish of fresh food besides her and everyday thereafter.  All her dreams had been answered. But the dream ended when the people came back! Petrified, Rosie tried to flee her new home but her body was just too tired.

       For a long time, she watched the people and kept her distance. They spoke softly to her and left her food where no-one could see her.

       That was eight years ago and Rosie still lives at our home for waifs and strays. What a surprise when we arrived back from holiday to discover her settled in our home. Our neighbour had fed her every day. How lucky was that? She is much older now and loves to be cuddled and loved. And oh, we love her dearly.

Work carried out at our home for waifs and strays is not just a means to an end, it’s a way of life for myself and my kind and unassuming husband. Life is never boring as every day almost always brings a new challenge.

      Not only do we have animals to look after, but we also have guests from time to time. These are people from all over the world. At the moment, we have two young travellers from Australia, who are also musicians.

      Suddenly, the house is filled with singing and laughter. The piano has been dusted down and my guitar is breathing new life. I too, have been taking in the energy that these young people have brought with them whilst my kind and unassuming husband disappears to his man cave in the garden.

      Whilst listening to them, I recall the days I too travelled across the globe with my guitar slung over my shoulder. It seems like yesterday. I wrote lyrics and music and although I am not much of a singer, I loved to sing wherever I went.

       Now isn’t this very strange? Wherever I went in the world, people seemed to know the song ‘Streets of London’ and now as I settle to write my bedtime story, I can hear them in the room above (yes, Mocha’s old room) and their beautiful voices are singing that same old song.  For awhile I sing along too, as I gaze out at the darkness. I hear the footsteps of my kind and unassuming husband coming up the path and I smile. The years have passed since my carefree days, when I lived a thousand lives, but I think I am happiest at this very moment in time.

      Now please, no ghostly noises coming from Mocha’s room tonight and Jake and Jako, please don’t visit while our guests are here!

So many wonderful creatures make their home in our garden for waifs and strays...this is another of their stories. 

     Princess Aspersa lives in the garden at the home for waifs and strays. Helix aspersa is her scientific name but she much prefers to be called Princess. She parades about in her yellow shell with a spiral of ribbony brown. Like all snails, Princess Aspersa longed to find her prince.

     Now down in the pond, beneath a lily pad, lives General Stagnalis. Now General Stagnalis (his scientific name of course) is a handsome pond snail but a bit of a lad and always on the lookout for a beautiful maiden.

     One day, last summer to be exact, the princess was resting in the shade at the edge of the pond. General Stagnalis had a sharp eye and spotted her, the minute he came up for air. She was different, he thought, like nothing he had ever seen before.

      Princess Aspersa was quick to spot the general too, but she turned her head as soon as he looked her way. Her heart beat faster than a downpour of rain and she tapped her foot nervously.

      ‘Hello,’ said a strange voice that did not come from the handsome snail in the pond. ‘I’m Prince Helix, at your service!’

      Princess Aspersa turned her head and gasped. There in front of her was the prince of her dreams. She blushed and fluttered her long eye lashes. But remembering the handsome snail in the pond, she turned back to see him still watching her. It was typical, she thought, not just one suitable partner but two had to turn up at the same time.

       The general saw what was happening and panicked. He wanted the princess more than he wanted anything else before. He swam to the edge of the pond and began to crawl towards the princess.

       ‘Come with me,’ said the general to the princess. ‘I have a beautiful home beneath the lily pad.’

       The poor princess did not know what to do.

       ‘Ah, I see you have your sights on the general,’ said the prince. ‘It’s a pity we cannot live beneath the water, just as he cannot live above it. His loss is my gain!’

       Princess Aspersa, kissed General Stagnalis on his head and told him to go back into the water where he was safe.

       ‘I would rather die than live without you,’ said the general.

       ‘Don’t be ridicules,’ said the prince, ‘why would you want to die when you have many princesses in your own pond?’

       The general thought about this and turned to the pond where a group of beautiful pond snails called to him. He stuck his chest out proudly and bid the princess farewell.

       The princess sighed. It was easy, she thought, as she did not have to choose between the general and the prince.

       Prince Helix and Princess Aspersa, left the pond for the castle under the shed. And they lived happily ever after.

Last night was a nightmare! It started the moment I settled down to write. It was late, a time when most people would be sleeping. But this is the time when I get most of my inspiration, staring out into the darkness that blankets the village around me. Sometimes, on a clear night, I watch the stars and if I’m lucky, a shooting star will entertain me. But there were no stars as I tapped my keys, just that strange noise again.

       For those who follow the stories, you will remember the strange noise that came from Mocha’s old room, the one she died in. I must quickly tell all those who don’t know, that Mocha was a very old hen who spent her last few weeks, as a house hen...on the advice of the vet of course!  Well it came back, no, not poor Mocha but the noise, in the room above my head.

       It has been quiet for many weeks now; no Jako, no Jake (the two very fortunate field mice) and no sign of slip the slug and certainly, no strange noise coming from Mocha’s old room. Life was trickling along nicely at our home for waifs and strays. But all good things come to an end, so the saying goes.

     It started with a low droning sound which got louder and louder. I was sure it would wake up my kind and unassuming husband.  But he slept through it and so did two fat cats. The third one was missing.

      While the droning echoed in the room just above my head, the old coat stand in the hall crashed over and made me jump. As I rushed to see what was happening, a tiny figure ran over my foot. I knew in an instant that it was Jako. And then I saw the missing cat... with poor tiny Jake in his mouth (yet again) well, his tail was in his mouth.

      ‘Drop it!’ I screamed. He dropped poor Jake to the floor and scarpered. Jake scurried underneath the coat stand.

      The noise upstairs had stopped and the house was quiet. An eerie quiet, as if something else was about to happen. Now where was Jako?

      I caught dear Jake in an empty biscuit tin with the expertise of any professional mouse catcher.

      ‘Let’s go for another stroll over to the field,’ I said to Jake. And as I was putting on my wellies, I felt something soft and warm under my toes. Thinking it was a sock, I curled my toes around it and dragged it out.

      What happened next happened in a flash. I screamed as Jako catapulted through the air and landed, thankfully, in the washing basket. I couldn’t have made up a better story, but all this is true.

      ‘I have a book to complete,’ I said to Jako and Jake as I strolled across to the field to let them go, yet again. But I doubt they cared.

      ‘Goodnight my little friends,’ I whispered in the torch light. ‘Please take better care.’

     Back in the house I was greeted by my kind and unassuming husband calling from upstairs. He asked if everything was ok.

      I picked up the coat stand and sighed, before shouting up the stairs, ‘yes, everything was grand.’

      I made a cup of tea and strolled back to my desk. It was then I saw him.....Slip the slug was back!