A bit of a mish-mash today - a bit more writing, a lot of boring housework, and a sinking feeling of dread because I'm taking Clyde (me and Clyde in pic) to the vet tomorrow. Because the cats have all been rescued from various unpleasant previous lives their state of health isn't the best, so visits to the vet are common - but oh lordy how I hate it. I always think the worst.
Clyde isn't the brightest cat in the world, and is rather - um - floppy physically and mentally, so telling how he's feeling is a bit tricky - but I just know he's not right. Even though he's eating okay and grooming and purring there's something a bit odd about the way he looks - so I've made an appointment for 9.30 in the morning and am hoping and praying it's just some minor niggle... This worry has outweighed everything else today really.
Elle and The Doctor are on holiday at the moment, so I can't even unburden my worries on them. The Toyboy Trucker feels the same way as I do about the cats, so we've spent today virtually ignoring the spasmodic overhead Farnborough air-traffic - okay, we did excitedly spot four Eurofighters in formation (difficult not to as they're very big and very fast and made a gut-shaking amount of noise) - trying to convince one another that Clyde will be absolutely fine...
Our years seem to be marked Good or Bad according to cat deaths. Last year none of them died so it was A Good Year. This year, our beloved mad-feral Carlo died in May after lengthy treatment for mammary cancer. He survived all the surgery and post-op treatment, made a full recovery, then suddenly died from total kidney failure. Truly awful.
So, whatever happens with Clyde tomorrow, this year is not going to be a Good One on the cat front.
I'll keep you posted...
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