'Cat' to my friends.

  

Early memory: listening to a children's radio serial called 'Polly and Oliver' -

 

'As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed,

A sudden strange fancy came into her head -

"I'll dress myself up in my dead brother's clothes,

And list for a soldier, and follow my love."'

 

And the thought hit me like a ton of bricks: what would it be like 'to dress myself up in my dead sister's clothes...'

 

This is no time to get the necrophiliacs all cold and bothered. I didn't even have a sister. But there it was: the clear desire to disguise myself as a girl. Simultaneously strange and thrilling. I couldn't get it out of my head. And not just 'dress up'. Even at that age, something deeper.

 

I must have been about nine years old.

 

And so it goes. Years later, still there. I'm comfortable with it now. Different to the herd, maybe, but in a world which includes trainspotters, morris dancers and David Icke, pretty damn normal.

 

Labels are for clothes, not people. I'm transgender, in the same sense that I am also - on a good day - a human being. Call me a tgirl, if you wish. I rather like that.

 

I'm blue-eyed, naturally blonde (please speak slowly), and 5'13" tall. Oooh, a big girl.

 

Sexuality? Yes, I've got one of those. I think I wrapped it in old newspaper and stuck it in a drawer somewhere. How does it work? Well, an attractive girl produces mixed emotions. It sort of goes, 'Mmm. Sexy. Stylish... I'd like to try that look myself...' Part of me wants to undress her, the other part wants to steal her clothes.

 

Sorry, guys. I just don't take that path.

 

Curiously, there are people who imagine I have some kind of medical qualification. I am neither a urologist nor a gynaecologist. Nor am I a proctologist, a barber, or even a plumber. I could only feel sorry for the gentleman who required a toothbrush and two elastic bands to demonstrate his charms. One day I shall write a computer game in which various sticky, wobbly, dangly and hairy bits advance menacingly upon a hapless tgirl armed only with a rolled-up copy of Cosmo. And a flamethrower.

  

I don't yet know where this will lead. Bringing Cathy out into the world like this is perhaps the beginning of a different journey. It was something I needed to do very much. I'd like to thank everybody for being so welcoming. It means a lot to me.

 

I don't think there's any going back from here, and - being honest - I don't want to. Would I ever become Cathy full-time? That's an enormous step, but right now I feel it just might happen. And that's something I've never said to anybody before.

  

One other thing. If you think you know me from these pictures, and finding me here hasn't completely freaked you out, please feel free to say hello. I'm sure you'll have questions, and it will help me know where I am in the world.

 

Alternatively, if your immediate response is to reach for your pitchfork and scream, 'Tis an evil abomination! To the stake with the trollop!', then soaking your computer in holy water overnight will rid it of any lingering contamination. You could also remove your clothes and rub every inch of your skin with raw garlic. Pay special attention to all orifices through which sin and depravity might enter. I promise you will feel quite different afterwards.

  

February 2009:

 

So. Three months out and 50,000 views. I never knew it was possible to have one's ego boosted and be humbled at the same time.

 

Infinitely more important: my friends. That warm, caring, intelligent, funny bunch of girls from all four corners of the Earth. (We live on a tetrahedron, right?) Girls who need a separate broadband line to carry all those hugs. Supportive, wise, and - damn it - genuinely loving. It is impossible to explain this to an outsider, but it is an amazing thing to experience.

 

I have learned, too, that Cathy is the nicest part of me.

  

September 2009:

 

It would be unfair to pick individuals out. There are people both inside and outside the t-world to whom I am gibberingly grateful. You know who you are. (Names can, of course, be made public on receipt of the usual fee.)

 

I'm an only child, but to meet my little sister in the flesh was a joy. I came to Flickr as a show-off, and ended by finding a family.

 

Without planning it, I have started on a process of social transition. People who only ever knew me as male have had this little bombshell dropped on them. There has been shock, confusion, interest, and kindness - So? You're still the same person.

 

I was deeply touched by one old girlfriend who simply said What kept you? I ask myself that question too!

 

So far, I've lost nobody. I know how lucky that makes me.

 

The need to be out in the real world is stronger than ever. I can laugh at the way the cobbles at York Station sent me scuttling back to my car. Chickened out completely!

 

Next time will be different.

 

Perhaps I should get the Alarmed Chicken Award. Or maybe... The Pullet Surprise.

  

January 2010:

 

Once a trans woman has ventured out of the front door and into family circles and the workplace dressed as a woman, it is impossible to retrace her footsteps without leaving permanent footprints in the social snow.

- from the UK 'Guidance for GPs on the care of gender variant people', a civilised and very humane document.

 

Me? I've been making footprints in the snow.

 

I'm out to more people than I know. Old friends, old workmates, their friends, their friends' tortoises...

 

The postman's definitely twitching too, ever since I signed for a parcel wearing some rather gorgeous nail varnish. Look, it's not my fault it's called Posh Trash.

 

A handful of people have now met Cat in the flesh.

 

The girls have been great. I've had advice on clothes, makeup - even a free haircut. A teenage girl made me a beautiful bracelet.

 

It was harder for the guys, but they were superb. Those hugs meant so much, as did the Christmas cards addressed to Cat.

 

It makes me happy that nobody has mentioned 'acceptance'. It's probably a personal bugbear, but to me it says, I still like you, even though you're obviously a bit wonky. Instead, there's been a rapid understanding that I'm the same person they've always known. Just a bit softer, and in heels.

 

People say my life must have been torment, that I'm being incredibly brave now, but it's not like that. I functioned adequately before - well, not entirely adequately, if you listened to my ex-wife, which was usually the only available option. The best word for that life would be incomplete. As for courage, maybe it's harder to carry on living a lie. I'm just going with the flow.

 

Yesterday I saw my lovely Irish GP again. He listened to my worries about my local Gender Clinic, and simply said, I don't want you going anywhere you're not happy about.

 

Then he wrote me a referral to Richard Curtis.

  

And on the fifth day of creation, God said to himself, 'I know. I'll make seven or eight different sexes - but I'll tell 'em there's only two...'

  

Oh, and since my friend Flickr worries over such things, I am way over 18.