Not for her. For me.
My sweet little cat, whom you may have met earlier on this blog (“Sweet Terror, Dec. 6, 2010, and “Decorating With Cats,” Dec. 15, 2010), has had me undecorating my house.
First to be packed away was a kilim rug from Afghanistan, about 75 years old. She tried to shred it.
Next was a weaving of delicate Thai silk covering a little table. She rumpled it, pulling a thread, which I later unpulled.
Elegant hand-hammered pewter vessels, a little pitcher holding my mother’s paintbrushes, a Tibetan prayer wheel, framed artworks, a jar of vintage pens, papers on my desk: all toys, to Dulcie. All stored for now, until she grows up and settles down.
I was already in the process of decluttering my home, and the simpler it looks, the better I like it.
Please understand, my idea of achieving minimalism doesn’t involve stashing artworks and memorabilia indiscriminately in cupboards and drawers. Rather, it requires the discipline of decision, of choosing what goes and what stays.
I’d just like to be the one to choose.