My partner's birthday today. She has been very, very sad. No word from BC - nothing. She received some nice gifts (I bought her some perfume) and we had a lovely roast beef dinner. But her heartbreak remains, and the efforts to appear cheerful before her family and friends exhaust her.
Ewan is here. I am endeavouring to remain civil. Actually, I have done quite well out of the little tyke. At yesterday's suppertime I received four little marmite sandwiches and two-thirds of a delicious banana, all of which fell from his unco-ordinated paws. I now know to position myself directly beneath his elevated chair, and all sorts of treasures rain down from on high. Even more if I give the chair a shove. I very much enjoyed the bovril sandwiches that came my way at lunchtime and what's even more gratifying is that I am protecting the pup. Childhood obesity is a terrible thing. Ewan has much to thank me for.
The infection surrounding Little Jasper is all but gone, thank heavens. Only one or two little spots remain and the hot stinging has completely gone. Also, my eye is back to normal. Mr. Matthews says that the surface of the eye may be permanently scarred, but my vision is unimpaired and - hey! - the ladies love a scar. It's not really visible if you don't know about it but, if a lovely lady is gazing into my soft dewy brown eyes, she may spot it and then I can tell her all about how I got the scar in my daring escape from six huge alligators in the park. I beat each one to a pulp, all the while carrying the unconscious Ewan in my mouth, stopping only to rescue a tiny kitten stranded in some wet cement. That ought to do it.
Tomorrow is MY birthday. I know what I am hoping to receive, but I'm not going to scupper it by revealing my wishes before midnight. I'd settle for my partner's happiness, but I don't know what I can do to achieve it. Blo*dy BC. WHY doesn't he realise how lucky he is? I should have kept one of those alligators. And had it DHL'd round to BC's house with my compliments.