Cat's eyes - and a tale

Are these cats' eyes derelict? I don't think so, they're in perfect working order. As far as I can tell, the word derelict only applies to buildings, vehicles and maybe machinery that has been abandoned or fallen into disuse.

The cats' eyes, salvaged by me from the roadside, could be replaced to do their job reflecting headlights from under their squashy rubber mantle but they reside here on the wall beside the garden gate with a litter of other objets trouvés such as bones and stones, potsherds and small metal items of random provenance.

And thereby hangs a tale (no, not that kind) for buried among these objects may still be the petrol cap of an old British car, a Wolseley or a Riley perhaps - I can't recall the make nor do I remember from whence it came. However...

When we moved here 20 years ago we joined a Welsh class with a dozen or so other learners, mostly incomers. Among them was a woman from the Midlands who'd finally achieved a long-held ambition to live in Pembrokeshire. She wasn't rich - I think she'd done a house-swap to get here - and her health was poor. She loved nothing better than to drive up to the lighthouse at sunset and watch the sun go down. I can't remember her name so let's call her Shirley, and her husband, Stan. He'd retired from lifetime working in the car factories in Birmingham. They had no children but Shirley loved her cats. We got the impression the marriage was none too brilliant because one day when we were learning the word for pig (mochyn) Shirley spat 'My husband!' and no-one knew what to say. (He wasn't a member of the class.)

Anyway, after just a few weeks Shirley took sick and was diagnosed with a mysterious cancer, the primary site never discovered: 'Typical!' she said. Nothing could be done for her but she claimed that she was happy to die in Pembrokeshire even if she couldn't live here. And so she did. Subsequently we invited Stan over for tea and sympathy, as one does, and after a chat he left, but stopped, as if transfixed, at this gateway. Turned out he'd spent years restoring an old car, travelling (pre-internet) to countless breakers' yard to source the parts, a labour of love, and eventually he'd got the vehicle back on the road complete and perfect in every way except for the one item that had always eluded him: the petrol cap. And here it was.
No, he didn't want it, thank you, the car had gone and so had his wife.

Afterwards, he joined the local brass band.

On the road again