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I Can’t Ignore 3 Nominations …Thank You Patrick, Caz And Lisl.

Hi All

I have succumbed. Why? Well I’ll tell you.

Some time ago I was nominated for The Versatile Blogger award by Patrick Jones. I read the requirements for acceptance of said award and scurried off into the garden to pluck a few dead leaves from the laurel bush. Too scary…and complicated. All that copying of links and nominating other people and stating things about myself that others would find interesting? No way.

A short time later I received another nomination for The Versatile Blogger Award from Caz Greenham.

I already knew the requirements for acceptance, so this time I set about making a batch of pasties for the freezer …and ignored the nomination.

Last weekend another nomination appeared from Lisl Zlitna.  I made a few polite noises and mumbled something about looking into it, with more than the odd intention of rushing out and turning over the compost heap.

Then I kinda realised what an ungrateful bitch I was being and decided to accept their very kind nominations and go ahead with it. Sooo … here we go. These are the requirements…

1 Display the award certificate.

2 Write a post and link back to the blogger (bloggers) who nominated you.

3 Post 7 interesting things about yourself.

4 Nominate up to fifteen other bloggers and explain why you have nominated them.

5 Inform them of their nomination.

 

Patrick Jones http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0077F0DFI

Lisl Ziltna http://beforethesecondsleep.blogspot.co.uk/

Caz Greenham http://cazgreenham.com/

 

My nominations for The Versatile Blogger Award go to (why does that sound like I’ve dropped into The Eurovision Song Contest and about to shell-out nil points?)

1 Evelyn Steward. https://evelynralph.wordpress.com  Evelyn is a lovely lady who blogs regularly about nature and all things nice. She also posts her beautiful sketches and craftwork on her blogs and, as a newish blogger, deserves this nomination.

2 Jennifer Moore. http://chuffincat.com/  Jen’s blogs are funny, heart-warming, sad, and at times ‘cat’astropic. Jen writes beautifully about her life with her family and her pets. A must for ‘cat’ people.

3 Elaine Otty. https://thelandroverownerswife.wordpress.com/  Elaine’s blogs are also ‘nature/craft/gardening/family’ themed and make interesting and informative reading. Elaine has been a great supporter of my blog from the beginning of time and for this I thank her personally.

 

 

 

7 Interesting Things About Me?

1 …This is going to be hard!

1 …even harder than I thought!

1 erm …(drums fingers on the table)

Right …

1 I have never been to Nova Scotia.

2 I have no wish to go to Nova Scotia.

3 If my son had been born a girl I would have run for the hills. I wouldn’t have known what to do with a girl child.

4 I don’t possess a single item of ‘real’ jewellery other than a silver chain with a frog charm.

6 I have never failed at anything that I wanted to achieve (big-headed? Possibly)

7 I had a wheelbarrow for my 30th birthday.

Hah! Easy. OK, so it’s a pile of dung. What did you expect? How am I supposed to come up with 7 interesting facts about myself? I don’t see myself as interesting. Do you see yourselves as interesting? Surely it’s down to other people to see us as interesting? Whatever. I should have stated at No 1 that I get easily bored because I’m now bored with it all … so that’s that. See? This is why I didn’t accept the nomination the first time!

Anyway, I’ve done it now, in my own fashion, so, hand on heart, thank you Patrick, Caz and Lisl for your very kind nominations, I do appreciate it, truly.

And I’ll take this opportunity (because they don’t come along very often) to say a huge thank you to all followers of this blog, established friends and new. Thank you xxx

Take care my lovelies xversatileblogger

 

 

 

 
11 Comments

Posted by on April 13, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Let Them Eat Cake?

Hi All

I told you in my last blog that I feared for Flight, that I thought she was on that downward spiral to chicken heaven – or should that be an upward spiral to chicken heaven? Possibly.

For days I tempted her with the odd squashed grape, watching while she cocked her head, as if half blind, to stare drunkenly at it until Little barged in and scoffed the grape in one. I tempted and wiggled cooked spaghetti beneath her tightly closed beak …until Little barged in and scoffed it in one.

As Flight grew thinner, Little grew fatter. I will be renaming her Big at this rate.

And then – Flight pecked at, and swallowed, a grape seed. An hour later she murdered an ant and managed to eat it after 4 attempts. I left them out in the sunshine for most of the day and by roosting time she had taken a few bits of lettuce and a piece of banana. Obviously not the best diet for a chicken but I didn’t care, anything down her throat was better than nothing. The following morning she looked a bit brighter and again spent most of the day in the garden, in the sunshine, pecking at a few strands of grass and occasionally accepting my humble offerings. I breathed a deep sigh of relief and for the first time actually thought that she might not be flapping up to chicken heaven.

The following morning saw her hunched up again and refusing everything. She remained that way all day and into the following day. I went to bed that night knowing beyond doubt that she wouldn’t see the sun come up.

Weirdly, Richard was up at the crack of dawn (it’s OK to say this as long as I don’t mistakenly spell dawn with a capital D) and when I came down ten minutes later he had let the chucks out. Little was bouncing on the spot, at the gate, waiting for me and my delicacies, and Flight stood some way behind her. Amazed to see that she was alive, let alone standing, I grabbed the only thing available for their morning treat – a piece of Victoria sandwich base that I’d removed from the freezer the previous night. As I approached the gate they spotted the cake. Little continued bouncing in expectation and Flight trotted to the gate to join her. As I crumbled the cake they BOTH dived on it and devoured it. Yes! Bloody devoured it!

Was that it? Was my home-made Victoria sandwich the answer? Well, I can’t say for sure but all I will say is that Flight took some lettuce, dandelion leaves, a few grubs and more cake yesterday and this morning she snaffled more and is looking much brighter.

Of course this could all still end in tears because she has bounced back before and then deteriorated again …but I am slightly more hopeful. I also put her on garlic and cider apple vinegar as I suspected a bit of sour crop. Not sure if this is having, or has had, any effect but it’s certainly jazzed-up Little, she’s running around the place like a creature insane, tail feathers flying!

Today I shall attempt to get Flight to take something more sensible but …if cake is all she will stomach right now, and admittedly only a teaspoon  at a time, then cake it will have to be. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it. Spring grass, vitamin D and home-made Victoria sandwich is on the menu just now …

 

To be continued …

Take care my lovelies x20150410_084033

 
14 Comments

Posted by on April 10, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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War Whoops On Hold…

Hi All

Hold your horses they say …and frankly it’s something that I’m not too good at. You see, I’m an enthusiastic type by nature and rarely ‘put off till tomorrow what can be done today.’ So, when I say that I had the flag in my hand, ready to hoist at the prospect of Richard going back to work, you will understand my instant flat lining at the news that the doctor advised another 4 weeks off. Yep, another 4 weeks off!

My war whoops died in my throat and I put aside the fireworks.

Yes, I know you think me mean and I don’t blame you one iota …because you are not living my life.

In the ‘olden days’ – 3 months ago, I had a lovely little routine that some people would kill for – basically pleasing myself and with no feelings of guilt for doing so. Now, with dear Richard on the premises, I feel massive guilt if I don’t offer myself up to him as his doting and ever ready companion. You see, he isn’t able to occupy himself around the place for long and always suggests ‘popping out’ somewhere – even to the dreaded ‘garden centre.’  I’ll tell you this, I can’t fit in another teaspoon of soil conditioner or compost anywhere!

Because of this I don’t really get to turn the computer on until he trots off around 7.00pm to go for his daily walk. Yes! Richard walking! Stones the crows. And not just any walking. He’s gone for an hour at a time sometimes. I did get to wondering if he had turned into a peeping Tom because he always waits until almost dark. Changing the clocks has thrown him out of sync a bit and he now trots off as daylight fades.

Then I got to thinking that he might be popping in somewhere? To see someone? Another woman? But to be honest, the only evidence of any ‘other than normal behaviour,’ is the smell of chocolate that follows him as he walks back through the door.

He swears he isn’t visiting the local Spar store but I suspect otherwise.

And now I’ll come clean and admit something that I never thought I would admit – I’ve kinda got used to him being around. Bloody hell I hear you cry but it’s true. Admittedly, I can no longer spend hours trawling Facebook, Twitter, etc., etc., and I haven’t started another book either, but is this a bad thing? I think not. I think things happen for a reason and I think I was spending way too much time on silly, time-consuming things. I’m not saying writing is a silly, time-consuming thing but it won’t hurt to take a break.

I also have to admit – in writing – that he has been nothing at all like I expected him to be. He is doing really well and I can’t get near to the sink or wrench the vacuum from his hand. He rarely complains about shoulder pain and has turned into a brave little soldier. I am, to be honest, amazed. I thought the last 3 months were going to be hell, but they haven’t been. Other than feeling guilty at ‘doing my own thing,’ it has been all good in the hood. He has played with his motorbike, quietly and unobtrusively, whilst I have toiled in the veggie garden, fighting off the recent winds and erecting netting and plastic sheeting to prevent Chea from poohing in the newly planted seedlings. Chea has paid no mind to the acres of netting and has, at every opportunity, crept beneath it and opened up her delicate little bowels …lovely. It’ll do wonders for the onions.

I think the extra 4 weeks are just going to be the icing on the cake. They will polish him up to new (ish) and then off he will gallop, back to work, to earn lots of lovely money and I can get back to doing what I love doing …pleasing myself and following my own routine …which, frankly, isn’t a routine …that’s the whole point.

One thing that I have noticed with the dear man is that he appears not to hear me very well these days …unless I quietly enquire if he would like the last piece of chocolate cake and then he has ears the size of a donkey’s and answers immediately. I’ve told him to get onto the internet and book a hearing test.

He said, ‘What?’

I didn’t answer.

He then said, ‘I know exactly what they will say – they will say that I need my ears clearing of wax.’

I blanched a bit at that.

‘But,’ he continued, ‘if you don’t mind me walking around here for a week with cotton wool in my ears that’s fine.’

‘Oh God!’ I exclaimed, ‘not another sodding bottle of Earex?’ The medicine drawer must have 4 bottles of the bloody stuff …all out of date and moulding.

‘No, I’ll use olive oil,’ he said smugly.

‘Not my GOOD olive oil!’ I said.

‘Oh, I suppose you want me to use chip fat?’

We don’t possess chip fat. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You can use that stir fry oil that’s been kicking around for ages.’

‘Charming!’ he said, laughing. ‘So, I’ll smell like a Chinese takeaway?’

‘Be different to smelling of chocolate.’

He looked confused, briefly, and then said. ‘I’ve told you before, I don’t buy chocolate when I’m out walking.’

Well, all I can say is, if he doesn’t buy the stuff when out walking, his fancy woman must do a good line in hot chocolate?

To date, the cotton wool has not entered his ear canal and he is still practising selective hearing.

And now, Richard is telling me that it’s time to trot off to the farm shop to pick up some shavings for the chucks cage …see what I mean? Although – poor Flight (grey chuck) isn’t well. She’s been up and down for the last 4 weeks – bright, happy, then a bit low, and now she looks sad and sits around rather uninterested in most things. I fear I may lose her and that will be hard. Little – (white chuck) adores Flight and, I fear, will not want to live without her.

But that hasn’t happened yet, so I’ll just keep my fingers crossed and apply all the love and attention that I can muster.

So, off we trot …

Take care my lovelies and have a lovely Easter.2014-06-20 10.37.17

 
13 Comments

Posted by on April 3, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

Nothing Wrong With My Erections …Even With The Wind!

Hi All

OK, so I jumped the gun and pretended that spring had sprung and that now was the time to start planting things in the garden. To be honest I did whack in some broad bean seeds a few weeks ago, as per instructions, but they, acceptably, have yet to surface so no worries on that score. However, yesterday I planted a double row of peas and a double row of mange tout. Perfect so far.

Knowing full well that I had to attempt to give them some sort of cover, if only to prevent Chea from using the finely raked soil as a litter tray, I struggled against the increasing wind to erect and peg down a super-duper, holey, plastic, protection tunnel thingy.

Richard, of course, was his usual non-helpful self, standing on the path issuing forth stupid suggestions, until I issued forth a few of my own, resulting in him legging it back to the house muttering something about he was only trying to help. Yes, TRYING being the operative word. What that man knows about gardening and plastic tunnel erection could be printed on a postage stamp and there would still be room to spare.

So, being the cocky cow that I am, I struggled alone, navigating  the spiky blueberry bushes that tried to take out my left eye, and narrowly avoiding  a fat green frog that had misread its satnav and was heading away from the pond rather than towards it, where its mates were already into a major mating session with a few willing female frogs.

The gathering wind obliged by whipping up the plastic from the manured soil and wrapping it around my head, causing me to break off temporarily to remove a piece of dung from my left eye. Forty-five minutes later, and with most of the sodding plastic pegged down, Richard reappeared with a mug of tea, his eyes running over my handiwork and saying nothing. He does learn – eventually.

So, with the plastic beautifully pegged down, and with the tea drunk, I rinsed my grubby little hands under the flow from the rain barrel and trotted off back to the house, imagining my little peas, snug and warm, and protected from cat pooh, lying in the lovely earth, impatient to sprout.

Around two in the morning the wind increased to hurricane proportions, slamming shut the bedroom window and rattling the chimney pots. My tunnel was never going to stand up to that. It crossed my mind to dash off out into the garden like Gabriel Oak in Far From The Madding Crowd, where he fought the elements to tie down and save the hay ricks, but the moment passed as I knew my tunnel would already be in the apple tree, hanging there like an empty parachute, whose owner had long vacated. Brilliant. Where, I ask you, is Gabriel Oak when you need him?

So, with a mug of tea, a roll of string and a pair of scissors, I sulked up the garden this morning to retrieve the tunnel from the tree, and lo and behold …it wasn’t in the tree, but exactly where I’d erected it. Hah! The wind hadn’t torn it to shreds. So there you go Richard. Keep your opinions on erections to yourself!

Besides, I learnt from the best …my father. He was a master erector of all things. I knew of nothing that toppled after dad had his way with it. Not a ‘screw man’ by any means, oh no, if a nut and bolt could be involved then a nut and bolt was involved. I think he had a standing order with Screwfix! I remember, on one occasion, building an outside run for an aviary and dad trotted round with a collection of various sized nuts and bolts and gave me clear and precise instructions as to where to put them. Years later I had to take a sledge-hammer to demolish that erection.

Perhaps I should bear that it mind for future erections? #wink

Take care my lovelies x

My perfect gardening companion ...No opinions offered!

My perfect gardening companion …No opinions offered!

 
8 Comments

Posted by on March 11, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The Games People Play …Eventually!

Hi All

To be honest, I don’t think I ever ‘pencilled in’ grandchildren as a possibility in my life. Don’t ask me why, I just didn’t. Maybe I thought that I would always be too young to have grandchildren? Yeah, well that moment has passed by on a fast bike – so here I am about to ‘mention’ them – grandchildren that is, not fast bikes.

Something else that I never thought I would do is play ‘games.’ I don’t mean monopoly or leapfrog or stuff like that, been there and done that, no, I mean games that you play on a tablet. In my opinion they are as time-wasting and pointless as anything else that I find time-wasting and pointless but …and this is where I link to the grandchildren…

Grace, 3, whose first words on entering granny’s house are, ‘Can I take my clothes off?’ (weird even by my standards) had a tablet for Christmas and insisted that I had a go at Panda Pop. Panda frigging Pop, I ask you. This caused great shrieks of fun and barely hidden scorn as grandma couldn’t pop a panda, and this was on level 8 after Grace had achieved all previous levels!

Soooo, Richard suggested that he put Panda Pop on his tablet and then grandma could practise in the week and show Grace how much she’d improved by the next time she came over. Big deal. Later that evening – in the middle of me ridiculing someone on The Voice – Richard passed his tablet to me and said, ‘Well go on then, get practising, Grace will expect you to be at least on level 10 by next weekend.’

Cheeky sod. Even I could do better than that. Do you see what he did there? He threw down a subliminal challenge, knowing that I am one of the most competitive people alive.

Long story short …I found myself addicted and merrily and greedily set about releasing all the dear, sweet little pandas from their prison bubbles, until …level 89. Then I got stuck …for 2 days.

Fortunately, Jake and Grace were due over last weekend so I explained to Jake that I couldn’t achieve level 89 and he set about helping me. It took him a few goes but he did it by storing up all the thingamabobs that you aim (haven’t quite mastered the lingo yet) and blasting the whole thing.

I cannot describe to you the look on his little face. It was one of those moments that you would like to capture in a bottle and to keep for all time. Priceless. The pride he oozed was almost palpable.

I have now trotted on from level 89 and I’m on level 112. I say this with a huge degree of embarrassment because I really do think these things are a waste of time, but hey-ho, until someone deems otherwise I actually do have the time to waste. If only I wasn’t so sodding competitive. Mind, I am a Scorpio, so our boredom levels are pretty low. Next week it could be something else.

I’m not sure how Jake and Grace view me. I think it’s a mixture of mad and fun. But then, most people view me that way …if you remove the fun bit.

I guess telling them that Little and Flight (chucks) have started laying cream eggs didn’t help. Grace’s eyes were as big as saucers as she said, ‘Really, Grandma, wow?’ Jake took a split second before he rolled his eyes and said, ‘Not really, Grace. It’s a trick, isn’t it Grandma?’

I wasn’t prepared to say one way or the other so I just winked. These children believe in Santa and The Tooth Fairy, so why not chucks that lay cream eggs.

Of course, Richard had to breeze up and say, ‘Blimey, I bet the silver paper hurt their bums when they laid those.’

Silly Richard.

Anyway, time and tide and all that. Must dash. I need to blitz level 113…or not!

Take care my lovelies2015-01-24 08.34.06

 
12 Comments

Posted by on March 4, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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With Spring In My Heart And A Pain In My Butt.

Hi

I’m excited. No, really excited. I think spring is definitely on its way. Yes, OK, I accept that it’s still bitterly cold and we are still having heavy frosts at night BUT …the snowdrops have bravely pushed through the hard icy ground and are standing proud on strong stems, their heads dipping in respect to the stirring of life.

The visitation will soon commence. A dozen or so frogs creeping through the fencing, their expectant little faces heading towards the fish pond, where a mating frenzy will begin. There always appears to be an uneven balance of males to females, with each female having 3 or 4 suitors. Those who can’t get the closest to the female, pile onto the back of the successful male and appear to be just as happy being a part of the gyrating tower.

And the birds have now started to sing in the mornings. They aren’t exactly up to the deafening chorus part yet but the song has well and truly started. And two robins threaten each other daily, from branches yet to bud, promising to beat the other to death in a territorial battle if it doesn’t look elsewhere for garden ownership. For such beautiful little birds, and incidentally my favourite, they sure are little monsters, fluffing-up and lowering their rapier-like beaks, ready for the attack.

Flight (grey chuck) has now replaced her tail feathers and is looking more like a living chicken and less like a table-ready chuck. Little (light Sussex) is once again proud to be seen out in the garden with her and will even give up the odd worm or grub to her, cluck-clucking until Flight rushes up and devours it. Such a ‘giving’ little creature is little Little.

AND …the veggie plot is also ready for the lengthening of days and the steady rise in temperature. Two days ago I emptied the horse muck compost bin and spread the detritus evenly and fairly across the ground and then dug it in.  I am only sharing this information with you and not my new physio, Andrew (name changed) who incidentally looks too young to be out of Pampers! But then, that’s my sodding luck these days.

After the sudden onset of a very painful lower back, and when the pain was so bad that I was more than convinced that I needed an emergency hip replacement, I had no choice but to bother the doctor with it. She was extremely helpful, referring me to a local ‘Specialised’ back and neck physio thingy/person. The appointment came through faster than poo off a shovel and along I trotted.

This guy, all smiles and testosterone, jogged down the corridor and gushing said, ‘Gail?’

Gail hey? And on our first meeting. I stood (painfully) and accepted his hand expecting it to have traces of Jelly Babies or SMA sticking to it, but no …

After the initially, “do you know how it happened?” bit, to which I lied and said, “No,” (and I’m not telling you lot either!) he requested that I placed my bones on his couch. Once there, and with my head protruding through the hole thingy, came his subtle question. “Is it OK to ease down your pants?”

I closed my eyes. I’ve led a full and varied life and this is NOT a query I have come across before. Of course it wasn’t OK to ease down my pants. I’m a person of a certain age and this dear child was …well …a child. “Sure,’ I said.

I based my positive answer on the fact that I’ve given birth and had an inguinal hernia op, both of which I was conscious for, so this would be child’s play …though hopefully not literally.

My left bum muscle was massaged to within an inch of its life, with Andrew periodically asking if I was OK. There really was no answer to that. I don’t know what hurt more …my bum or my embarrassment? A bit of a photo finish me thinks?

So, back to the spreading of the horse shit. Andrew says I shouldn’t be doing much at all. My instructions are to heat-treat my bum every twenty minutes in the hour (yeah right) not to sit or stand in one position for longer than twenty minutes (yeah, double right) and to do some knee-bend exercises on the bed every morning and night. (?)

I hate exercises. Isn’t digging the garden exercising? Isn’t clearing out the garage and carrying a deep freezer and tumbler dryer up the garden exercise? Isn’t playing hide and seek in the garden with Chea and the chucks exercising?

Anyway, I’ve had 3 of these sessions now. They won’t get any better. My embarrassment level will be constant. And another thing, like most men, Andrew, takes these things for granted because, other than our first-time meeting, when he actually did the polite thing and asked if he could lower my bloomers, he now takes it for granted that he may and dives straight in. Kids hey?

Obviously, I have had to source a new hot water bottle in order to heat my bum because stupid Richard burst the other one by leaning his crappy shoulder against it and flooding out my lovely new cushion. He moaned and said that I was more concerned about the cushion than his burnt back. True.

He is still driving me mental. In fact, I think I had heart palpitations last night. I’m sure he is sending my stress levels through the roof and I’m going to die. I’m not frigging joking either and you heard it here first.

The other night he was slurping his way through one of my tangerines (he doesn’t do fruit) coughed, and spluttering said, “I’ve just swallowed a pip! Will it hurt me?”

“No,” I said.

“Are you sure?” he said

How dare he doubt me?

“I said, will it hurt me?” he repeated.

“NO IT WON’T HURT YOU,” I repeated. “Not unless it attaches to your bowel and you get an orange tree growing out of your arse!”

He laughed …and then I laughed. Such is life.

Take care my lovelies017

 
11 Comments

Posted by on February 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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A Bare Bum And A Poorly Puss.

Hi

I haven’t mentioned the chucks or Chea recently so I’ll bring you up to speed.

Flight, my grey chuck, has gone into the moult of all moults and is throwing out feathers like confetti. Her beautifully feathered bum is now just a bum, with nondescript feathering barely covering her modesty.

It is bitterly cold here at night, just now, so the heater has been sought from the greenhouse and placed in Flight and Little’s roosting half of the summerhouse. It doesn’t produce much heat, just prevents the water supply from freezing, and they seem to appreciate it. Little is not bothering to moult, she’s a Light Sussex and tough as old boots, and continues to do her thing – laying a large egg daily. Flight, obviously has to put her energy into producing new feathers and so is taking time out from her daily egg drop.

Chea has had some stupid intermittent cough thing for the last 4 weeks and, although she hates the vet visits with a vengeance, I did, finally, have to admit defeat and take her to see him. She yowls all the way there, sulks for England whilst being examined, burying her head under my armpit, and poohs in the carrier on the way home. Then, she won’t speak to either of us for twenty-four hours, possibly longer.

The vet looked about twelve and spoke of asthma in cats. Yeah right. He took her temperature and listened to her heart and lungs, remarked that ‘something’ didn’t sound quite right with her lungs’ and sent me off with antibiotics and steroids. Bloody brilliant. Oh, and charged me £52. Double bloody brilliant.

Three weeks later and the cat was exactly the same, except that she was more pissed-off than usual because I was having to ram two tablets down her throat every morning, one of them being a steroid tab which increased her already gargantuan appetite, and caused her to eat like a demented pig. At this point I decided that she had to go back to see the senior vet, whom I’ve known for some years. He also knows me and what a pain I am where my animals are concerned. It was decided that dear Chea would go in for an anaesthetic, x-rays and an endoscopy. Naturally this filled me with fear, concern and dread, and had me taking up residency in the loo.

I didn’t even dare look at her when I handed her over to the nurse. My last words were, ‘Chea is the most beautifully natured cat that you will ever come across. She has never spat, hissed, scratched or bitten, however, she HATES it here and therefore will not be showing you that character. She will be sulky and unhelpful.’

I couldn’t sit around waiting for news of Chea so I took myself off to the supermarket, where I absentmindedly filled the basket with items I never use and had no call for. I was just sorting through the strong onions and my mobile rang. It was the vet. And it was way too early.

‘Hi Gail,’ the vet said.

I knew he was trying to be cheerful to soften the blow.

‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘You’re too early. Is it bad news?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve got your lovely, sweet Chea on the table now.’

I didn’t detect the sarcasm.

‘We couldn’t get near her. I wanted to put the anaesthetic straight into her vein but she was totally wild and the nurses couldn’t get near her either, so we had to pin her in the basket and jab her in her back leg, through the basket. I wouldn’t have had a nurse left that wasn’t covered in wounds, otherwise’

‘Have you got the right cat?’ I said.

‘Oh yes …but you’ve not got a cat, Gail, you’ve got a tiger.’

A tiger? Chea? I did question again if he’d got the right cat and he assured me he had. Chea really is a sweetie – unless you are a robin fledgling (previous posts).

We collected her, wide-eyed and legless, choosing to get her home before she was fully round from the anaesthetic because I knew she would go ballistic if we left her to wake up fully and realise where she was – at the vets, AND in the cat carrier.

Once home she swayed her way to behind the sofa and wasn’t seen for a couple of hours. Eventually, she wobbled out and allowed me to shower apologetic kisses on her head and generally grovel until I could kneel and grovel no more. Around 7.00 in the evening she condescending to eat a little tuna.

The vet said that the x-rays were normal, with nothing nasty lurking. All the endoscopy revealed was a small ulcer on the larynx.

I am now giving her a steroid syrup on her food each morning and she has to go back next Tuesday. She is still coughing and frankly nothing has changed, unless you take into consideration my bank balance – that’s down by another £270.

The weird thing is, I can do absolutely anything to, and with, Chea. She trusts me completely. This I find humbling and lovely. To have an animal choose to trust you is something special in my book.

2014-06-30 21.44.55 - Copy

 

Take care  my lovelies x

 
19 Comments

Posted by on February 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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