All Healed Up

You may have been wondering how MasterB’s injured leg is doing.
I am happy to tell you that he is all healed up. He discarded a scab on my bed today. I could have wished it had been outside.
His fur is slowly growing back, and soon he wil be as good as new.
It still looks as though he is wearing an Ugg boot, or that he has rolled up his sleeves, but I don’t think the hair growth will take very long.

Ugg Boot

Ugg Boot

Sleeves Rolled Up Continue reading

Garden Cat

I am sure MasterB’s file must have a sticker on it that denotes ‘anxious owner – expect ‘phone calls’.
Anyway, the vet, when I ‘phoned, (now I am wondering if they might place bets on how long it will be before I call with a question) said MasterB should be fine outside.She advised against covering his wound, said that it was fine for it to be oozing a bit as that meant it was healing, but if he was still limping on Monday I should bring him back.
So out we went.
MasterB had become relatively resigned to his incarceration, and at first did not follow me, but when I picked him up and placed him in the hall he hightailed it down the stairs. I wondered if he would guess an outing was in the offing when the collar went round his neck.
My plan was to chaperon him. I had a camera and some notes to read. I reckoned he would get tired quite quickly and want to come back in.
How wrong I was.

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MasterB, aka Conan the Barbarian

Only a few weeks ago, MasterB was scared to go into the garden in case he met Trevor, a skinny, injured and frightened stray cat who was sheltering between the binshed and the wall. Once Trevor had been relocated to a warm run at the cattery, MasterB made tentative and chaperoned steps outside again. Frankly, it has taken a while for him to regain his confidence. The girls have helped. Both Scally and Wags have been about and the three cats have been playing after dark.
So last night, MasterB was enjoying his evening constitutional outside, I was comfortably warm indoors, when I heard a loud cat cry. I went to my boy’s rescue only to see him chasing a strange cat across the garden and out through the gate. I followed at a distance, and after a minute or two he came home, tail hoisted like a feather duster. Boy, was he pleased with himself. He came in for about five minutes, but he could hardly wait to get outside again to enjoy his dominance of the space. The testosterone, normally not a noticeable part of his make up, had risen. He had discovered his inner Conan the Barbarian, and he seemed more than happy about it.
Hard to imagine when you see him looking sweet and innocent like this.

Cosy Cat

Cosy Cat

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Top Buttons and Cat Fights

Mum’s hair wasn’t good. I do hope there is a better celestial hairdresser sorting her out. She had lovely thick white hair, and was always careful of her appearance. I get my scruffy gene from my father. Bear was lying on her chest. Much too regimented. I moved him to one side and tucked the poem I wrote to her in January underneath him. I put the pink scarf on the other side. Something else was wrong but I didn’t work it out until after I had left; her pyjama jacket was done up to the neck. Over formal, and very un-Mother. I spoke to the undertaker later and told him. He’s going to fix it.
At the newsagents I picked up a local paper. I was fussily looking for the nicest copy. The woman behind the counter looked at me oddly. “My mother’s death notice is in it,” I explained. She understood. Her own mother died in January. She guided me to the correct page. I am not sure why I bought it, but I expect I’ll get a copy of the national paper on Saturday where it appears too. I gave my card in at the florists’ and had my handwriting admired. Things are slotting into place. In some ways I never want the funeral to happen. I remeber after my father’s funeral most people seemed to think that was that, for us, a strange new existence was just beginning. You would think that since all of us experiences bereavement we would be better at understanding its effects. The time allowed off work following a death is derisory. Would you want a recently bereaved surgeon to operate on you? I shouldn’t. The idea of a train driver whose concentration is distracted as mine is just now is terrifying. Continue reading