I'm enjoying a cup of coffee in the Linen Hall Library where Fiona and arranged to meet. But I am alone. Moments after leaving Cousin I found a message on my 'phone saying that Jake, the family Westie whose arrival in the McSpec household a few years ago when he was adopted by them brought such joy, is seriously ill and Fiona was dashing to the vet with him. Ominously, she said she did not expect to be bringing him home. I do hope she's wrong, and that Jake, whose health has not been great, can be put on the road to recovery and exerting his grumpy charms again. I have never met him, but he sounds a great wee character, and the Internet has secured him fans beyond his home.
The death of a pet is always hard, the anticipated death equally so. Those awful heart lurching moments of mixed fear, love and anxiety; dreading the vet's verdict even as you hope for a miracle. When we came back from Homeplace last night we watched the second part of The Secret Life of Dogs. For any of you reading this who struggle to understand friends' and neighbours' love and respect for their pets, do watch it, as you may begin to get an inkling of what immensely rich and wonderful relationships you are missing.
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It’s been quite a rainy afternoon. Useful for the housework. I didn’t feel I was missing out on sunshine, but I still didn’t find my missing pendants. Fortunately, Not Cat had had quite a while outside this morning, so he was happy to rest on the sofa.
Suddenly, it turned sunny with blue skies. Not Cat wanted to go out and I needed to take the recycling to the bins. I took the camera. Hundreds of pix of flowers with drops of rain, then Not Cat decided the recycling bag was a great toy. Another hundred pix.
Here they are:
Well, I did warn you!
Not Cat is on a mission.
He’s trotting about the garden looking important. Every now and then he stares hard at some vegetation and pounces. The grasshoppers were having a bad time this morning, At one point he rushed indoors and there was a lot of clucking from next door. My guess is he’d been investigating the chickens. I’m not sure which species he’s hunting tonight.
No other cats about this evening. Last night they all came trotting by. Cat would have rolled up his sleeves and had a barny. Not Cat isn’t sure whether to run or make friends. When I walk up behind him, the other cats flee. Not Cat, mistaking this for evidence of his own power, races after them then struts back to me looking pleased with himself. Continue reading →