Living alone...

For a week, my only company was an overly affectionate deaf cat. I was alone in the remote location of Te Kopuru house sitting a beautiful wooden house for a couple on holiday. The cat, small fry – named after its previous owner Mrs Fry, pretty much loved me to death, so it’s unfair to say that I didn't have company, but for a week I was that crazy cat lady that everyone dreads turning into.

Beautiful house in the country

I got a taste for what it would be like to live in solitude. It had its moments – I practised cart wheels on the lawn – probably the most ungraceful sight – but hey, no one was around to judge my awful technique, and it felt liberating flinging my legs into the air and plonking them on the ground again, until the unsettling thought of cracking my scull open and nobody being around to call an ambulance crossed my mind.

The lawn, and the river at the end - what a perfect place to be alone. 

I have mixed feelings about living alone; on the one hand the freedom and judgement free environment is refreshing but I don’t think I could do it for longer than a week. Being alone, for me, is a hop, skip and a jump away from being lonely and I think the ‘crazy cat lady’ stereotype of women who live alone is a myth because I actually think you have to be super confident to do it.

Lonely Te Kopuru - the shopping area - slightly optimistic?

When I had a good day at work, coming back to an empty house was great - or a house with a cat which acted more like a scarf or face warmer... I could watch whatever I wanted on t.v., do cart wheels on the lawn, play super loud music and be a slob. But at moments when you want a hug, the silence is deafening.