Late Night Reflections

Bedtime calls, but I am sitting on the sofa with the IPad and MasterB has taken over the armchair after a fair fight with some string. He has a gorgeous new basket, but so far has done little more than sniff at it. No updates about Trevor. He is at the Cattery, being fed a diet to control his sensitive tum and no doubt loving the heat lamp, comfy bed and attention. When the rain lashed down last night I was so pleased he was safe and warm.
Two people have responded to the posts about him to offer money for his treatment. Isn’t that wonderful? A cat you don’t know, will never meet, will benefit from your generosity. The power of the Internet – thanks Tim Berners-Lee – is truly amazing.
For all the horrific stories about animal cruelty and neglect there are humans who do redeem our species. Kris celebrated happy animals rehomed in her blog yesterday. We need those stories of hope to motivate and inspire us in the face of the bleak reality faced by so many animals. Lorely and her friends are taking practical steps to improve animals’ lot. You may need a stiff whisky to get through this post, but believe me, it’s worth it. I left a comment, but it is not there. Blogspot is like that sometimes.

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The Day After

Tonight I have been giving MasterB some well deserved attention. He had been shut up in das Boot the whole long sunny day. The marina, empty when I left this morning (doctor’s certificate, registering Mother’s death, get her bank account frozen, seeing aunt, liaising with the boys and the undertaker) was buzzy. Among the faces, I saw a lovely couple who have boat that is a bit of a project. I waved, but their heads were down and they were working. MasterB was happy to be cuddled and interested in the activity beyond our gunwale, but not tempted to venture out. I needed to get some more drinking water and went over to the tap, waving agin at the couple. This time they waved back and smiled. I walked over. How are you? She asked. Pretty shit, I said. Mother died yesterday. Bless her, she climbed straight off the boat and gave me a hug. He stayed working but listening. I’m sorry about your mother he said. Thanks, I answered, and suddenly remembered he had met her. You tried to persuade her to drink neat gin a few years ago I said. His face split into a grin. That’s right, he said. It was in the marquee. I think I wrote about it, but it would have been on MyT, so perhaps I shall look it out when I am back in London with a more reliable connection. They left the marina taking some of my washing with them. It’s not quite the transformation scene in Cinderella, but yes, I shall have clean underwear for the weekend thanks to some very kind and generous people. They will be working on their boat tomorrow when I am collecting some of Mother’s things from the home and talking to the undertaker again. Continue reading