WHAT a busy day I have had today! And I naïvely thought that Sunday was the day of rest...
Today, my partner and I have done some gardening, two loads of washing, cleaned the kitchen AND the bathroom from top to bottom, put some food out on our bird-table for our feathery friends, changed our bedding, washed all of our dishes, read a book together, and made a big pan of carrot and coriander soup from scratch. I am exhausted.
For the most part, I managed to behave myself - except, unavoidably, during the soup-making process. My partner allowed her attention to switch to the soup pan, leaving unguarded a plump little onion. I wasted no time in seizing both the opportunity and the onion, scampering away into the garden with my prize before my mischief was detected.
"Jasper! Come back with that!" called my partner, to no avail. "Don't eat it, it's a raw onion! You won't like like it...!" she entreated.
'Hehe - I shall be the judge of that...' I cackled to myself, settling down to peel off the onion's crispy outer skin. I bit deeply down into my purloined snack...
Hmmm... I really ought to start paying more heed to my partner's advice. Perhaps some of it, after all, is actually intended for my own good. Whatever may be the case, raw onion is disgusting.
And I had to eat it all as well, because Honey the cat was watching from the opposite side of the pavement and I didn't want to look like a weed. I managed as much of it as I could before I actually started crying with every fresh bite, but was forced to twist about and bury the rest of the hated pungent bulb, shielded from the ginger tabby's impertinent gaze.
Wretched onion. I've had my proper supper AND two bowls of water and I can STILL taste the revolting thing. My partner didn't say a word. I think she could see that I had suffered enough.
Anyhow. All of this activity appears to have been undertaken to distract my partner from the distressing thought that we have NO more money to last for the rest of the month and very, very little food. The afore-mentioned soup is the first meal my partner has eaten for two days. We are expecting our compensation cheque from our "builders", but it has yet to arrive. I still have meat, though no biscuits, but I cannot complain - my partner always feeds me before herself. We WOULD have been alright this month. But the computer repairs and one other unexpected expense took out £110 of the £150 we have each month to live upon. My partner has busied herself excessively today in order to remove the possibility of dwelling on this plight to excess. I like to feel that my "onion episode" provided her with at least some light relief.
She does her best to remain buoyant, though it is not always easy. Earlier this afternoon, whilst I was snoozing on her lap as we were looking at our book, she sighed heavily and, idly scratching my ears, said;
"You've led a pretty full life, haven't you, Jaspie?"
I couldn't really deny it. I looked up her and agreed.
"When does life start to get easier?" she mused, sighing again.
I gave this some consideration before replying - it was, after all, a fairly weighty question.
"Well," I decided, "You know that bit that comes right at the end? When you close your eyes for the last time, and then you breathe for the last time, and then everything inside your body stops working?"
"What, you mean death?" she asked, frowning down at me.
"I suppose some people give it that name."
"Ye-es?" my partner enquired.
"Yes." I replied. "Well, that's the easy bit."
My partner smiled down at me and ruffled my fur good-naturedly, before returning to our book.
After all, I thought to myself as I began to doze again, Dying is incredibly easy - anyone can do it. It's living that casts up the REAL challenge.
And I would not have it any other way. I'm off to make a mess in the bathroom now. Cleanliness is not a natural state for me.