Apart from a trip to the supermarket in Swansea we’ve done little but talk, sleep and eat since we got home. Mostly sleep if I’m honest. I’m over my long drive at last, and Graham is just about the same, and unpacked, too.
Dolly has slipped right back into her two-man support system as if there’d been no interruption at all. She truly loves having staff, does that cat.
Graham’s started on the long job of clearing the mats in her coat and we’re thinking of getting a Wahl pet clipper to speed the task. There’s no telling if Dolly will tolerate a little buzzing machine that close to her person, no matter how quiet it may be. I’d put the chance of success at no more than 50/50 but they’re not overly expensive so it’s worth the experiment. Cheaper than the vet, anyway.
I really don’t want Dolly to go to the vet. Like dentists, vets are expert at finding problems that really don’t need fixing but which, once they mention them, have to be seen to. And they’re far too free with the anaesthetic. Elderly cats don’t take well to anaesthetic. Or anything out of the ordinary, really.
It’s rather strange cooking for two again. I managed a fairly decent fried chicken meal yesterday but portion control is something I’m going to have to learn over again. This surprises me. The summer may have seemed a long time but it wasn’t really. I shall sit quietly so soon as I’m able, and work the problem out in my own sweet way.
It’s good to chat and smile and laugh again, exercising groups of facial muscles that seem somehow to have fallen into disuse. Being a lonely, grumpy old man really doesn’t sit well with me.
