Things are slipping, it is quite obvious. I was at Buckingham Palace this afternoon, outside, not in with ER, though the flag showed she was in residence. There was no bulletin about MasterB on the gate. So I shall have to do one here.
We slept well. That’s not the royal we, I mean the residents chez IsobelandCat. For all MasterB’s protestations, and there have been more this evening, I think he is tired. He took himself back to bed after breakfast and, to all appearances, stayed there until I reached home this evening. He was pleased to see me, and we had a cuddle. He lay down by my feet. He was less pleased when I bathed his wounds, but it was fairly quick. He has had some food, sat in the hall with his left paw in the air, and gazed out of the bedroom window. Now he is having some zzzzs on my bed.
I took some photos of him, so if you are squeamish, skip this next bit.
Yesterday evening’s photo is a bit blurry, but you get (sorry) the picture.
Don’t think he’s too badly off. He still knows how to make himself comfortable.
Not to be outdone, I too am on antibiotics. My scar was a but prickly and uncomfortable, so I peered at it and saw some pus. I cleaned it up, but mentioned it to Octavia who immediately advised me to speak to the fracture clinic. In turn, the clinic advised me to see my GP. I collected a prescription shortly after five o’clock, but the surgery was busy, so my appointment is tomorrow evening.
All petty smooth and impressive for a service certain sections of the press would have us believe is a disaster.