Not a Happy Cat

I wish I had the feline equivalent of Calpol. MasterB is off colour and as been sick twice, bringing up his dinner and some dinner coloured froth. He is so unlike himself it s startling. No ginger ninja tonight, but an unsteady boy whose coat is staring. I lifted him back onto the bed and he has settled into a doze. There’s a towel beside his nose and newspaper over the bedroom carpet. Continue reading

Don’t Believe the Adverts

You know those ads where the boss is suspicious of the employee who has seemingly bounced back to full health after a day off? The ones where the employee waves a a sachet of powder and the voice over tells you that cold and flu symptoms can be banished with one hot drink?
Don’t believe them. I am about my tenth sachet, and although it might mitigate some of my symptoms, I am by no means ready to trip the light fantastic or even get a bus into town.
My cold started on Thursday. A suspicion of a sore throat. By Thursday evening my nose was running like a tap. I was doing the tissue relay. Early to bed, and one of those sachets after breakfast, and I got through work. Though I wish to apologise to all those who were close when I was sneezing. After work I had planned to go to Trafalgar Square and photograph the Paralympic Agitos, but I felt pretty washed out so headed home, buying three boxes of tissues en route. Continue reading

Neither Here Nor There

Oh the relief.

For the last few days I have had one foot metaphorically in Suffolk. I’ve been ready to pack my bags, scoop up Not Cat and head East. Mother has had a chest infection that was not responding to antibiotics. We had a bit of a wrangle with the home.

Aunt was very concerned when she visited. Mother was off colour, off her food and wheezing. No one seemed to feel a doctor’s visit was necessary. Aunt disagreed. The doctor was called. Aunt called me. I called the home and asked them to ask the doctor to call me when s/he visited.

I stayed home, sorting and shredding old papers in Mother’s files. Finally the ‘phone rang. Not the doctor; the senior nurse at the home who told me the doctor had thought her ‘more than capable of passing on a message’.

Not the point. If we didn’t think the staff capable, Mother wouldn’t be there. I still wanted to speak to the doctor. Fortunately, that was achieved. It was the out of hours service who did not know of the protocols we had agreed with the surgery back in March. She gave me some good advice, said my mother was on antibiotics and expected to respond in forty-eight hours.

I sent an email to the home expressing my full confidence in the staff and explaining I still needed to speak to her doctor myself. Continue reading

The Pills Less Taken

Early evening in the East on a beautiful spring day, where, appropriately enough, I have been doing a spot of cleaning; the sideboard is now polished and shining, so is the coffee table, the dining table and chairs. I’ve moved large pieces of furniture and shaken out seat cushions in the sitting room and found pills.
Lots of pills.
For this is Mother’s sitting room not my own. I dread to think what I’d find if I did the same trick there, but I know it wouldn’t be pills. Cat toys maybe; old forgotten screwed up bits of silver paper; catnip toys that have have lost their allure.
It was quite therapeutic and kept me usefully occupied until the doctor arrived. Since last I posted (and I’m planning a trip to the end of the garden soon to post this and see what urgent messages I’ve missed) it’s been quite an adventure.
Mother continued the sleeping cure on Saturday, and also continued to flinch away when anyone tried to help her get to her feet. we are more and more convinced that some inexperienced physios have tried to rush her and made her scared. Consequently, she is now digging her heels in and will only stand when she wants to. Continue reading

Cat Attack

I seem to cornering the wordpress market in sad and worried posts recently. Late this afternoon, I thought I was going to be posting another.

Cat had a fit this at four o’clock. One minute he was a purry animal on my knee, the next he was scared and staggering; panting badly, his sides heaving. His intestines made a ghastly noise and he passed some silent but smelly wind. I lifted him into the bathroom and he wobbled into the litter tray. Emptied his bowels. Panting all the while. He lay down on the bathroom floor, and seemed to relax a bit.  Continue reading