It is not purple, but....

I was rampaging through my wardrobe the other day, searching for the outfit I had made last year for a nephew's wedding. It needs to be altered, to fit me for my niece's wedding in August.  I came across a genuine antique from my past.

It was at the very back of the wardrobe, where things I am extremely unlikely to wear ever again hang dolefully. This particular garment must be a good 20 years old.

I dragged it out. It is a size 10, and it fitted me. I stroked it and purred. I liked what I saw and felt.

It is a fur jacket. A rabbit fur,  in red fox shades.

I love fur. It is so soft and smooth, so warm and snuggly. So tactile.

Years ago I used to have a lapin fur coat, which I wore until it fell to bits. It was just the thing for the Canberra winters. Furriers used to have special sales in the Albert Hall. Ah, such temptation!

Fur garments fell into disrepute, as animal liberationists campaigned vigorously against them. Furriers closed down in droves, and there was not a fur garment to be seen.

Although I observed some years later that in Europe there were still furriers and garments which were absolutely elegant, gorgeous, and glamorous. Such luxurious shops. They are not the sort of shops you'd go into for a little browse around. Much too posh. One stood gazing at the windows, and lusted after them.

Now fur trims on garments are to be seen here and there, and not all of it is faux fur. Fur is creeping back, it seems.

Sydney's climate is not really one which can justify the wearing of fur, although this mid-July is doing its best to disprove this theory. And the Canberra overnight temperature yesterday fell to about - 6.3.

In August one of my many nieces is getting married in a very cold place. But a fox-coloured and snugly fitting jacket won't go with the purple silk outfit.

My wonderful physiotherapist, Barbara, was rather teary at this week's appointment. Her cat, her beloved pet for 21 years, had cancer and had to be put down.  We exchanged memories of sitting and stroking lapfuls of purring cats.  And hugged and kissed each other, in mutual comfort.

It reminded me of having to put down my lovely cat Meggsie, who also had cancer and who was totally miserable. I took him to the vet, and held him as he died, then came home, and flung myself on the bed and wept. Dr P and I were supposed to be going out that night, but, unprompted, he cancelled the outing, and let me weep. Such memories re-surface unexpectedly.