Wednesday 28 December 2011

Had a bad day yesterday; bit better today.

I was able to assist my partner in opening her Christmas presents on the 25th, which was most enjoyable.  However, she returned from assisting with the old folks' home Chrimble lunch with a wretched migraine and had to take to a spare bed in her parents' house and eschew her Christmas dinner.  I could hear her crying from my station downtairs by the Christmas tree and festive candle-arrangement.

I didn't fancy my Christmas dinner either, I have to bark.  It would be fair to say that I have little appetite at all. My partner's mother gave us some food when we departed in the evening for our own house.  Although I couldn't face it when we returned, the following day my partner sat on the floor beside the sofa where I was reclining and broke up the slices of turkey into small pieces and fed them to me individually.  This was much more tempting and I accepted each morsel with alacrity, savouring the taste and the renewed sensation of food in my belly.

My partner was hopeful that this was some sort of breakthrough - but I could not manage my regular evening meal.  We are therefore going to the shops in a minute and my partner will buy some fresh cooked meat for me, in the hope that this tempts me to continue eating.  Do not misunderstand me - I am not playing on my predicament in order to secure more noble fare; I am finding it hard to digest my tinned dinners - smaller fragments of roasted meat or fish are just what I need.  The fact that these items are also incredibly delicious is a welcome side-effect...

After I was unable to have my dinner last evening (although I DID manage two toothbrush sticks [Bakers' Dental Delicious] this morning), my partner went into our garden and I heard her crying piteously again.  I would have joined her, but I was feeling too tired to rise.  I craned my neck, in order to see through the French windows around to the front of our house (my partner, in an attempt to conceal her tears from me, was hiding around the corner).  I hated the fact that she was alone in the dark, weeping without consolation.  I was surprised, however, as my eyes became accustomed to the dark street outside to see that she was not entirely alone...

Honey and Kittenjasper, the two cats who live directly opposite my house, were sitting - on the roof of a car and on the pavement respectively - keeping a quiet vigil whilst my partner wept.  She noticed them too.  As my partner's burst of grief subsided she began to dry her eyes.  At this, Honey jumped down from the roof of her car and she and Kittenjasper (no longer a kitten, but the name stuck) went back into their house, the cat-flap clicking closed behind them.  I felt a rush of gratitude for their quiet compassion.

If only ALL cats were as thoughtful...  I had the misfortune to encounter Peaches (that dark aberration who terms himself 'a cat') this morning as I downloaded my first weemail of the day in the garden.  By the sniff of things he was returning to his house after a night of foul mayhem.
"Jasper!" he simpered, his tail twitching malevolently, "How nice it is to see you dying at last!  You ARE dying now, aren't you...?!"
"I prefer the term 'having an end-of-life experience'." I muttered, not even looking at the beast.
"Eh?!  Oh well, at least you won't have to worry about catching a cold - not where you're going..." grinned Peaches.
"Oh no - and I shall be sure to stoke up the furnaces in readiness for YOUR arrival." I barked.
"Sorry Jazz - didn't catch that," replied Peaches with a malevolent smile.  "Were you talking just then, or was it just your long, drawn-out, death rattle?"

All of a sudden, I looked over Peaches' shoulder with a horror-struck expression.
"Eddie!  NO!!" I yelped (Eddie being my friendly Rottweiler neighbour), "Peaches was only being cheeky!  He meant no harm!  I BEG you to spare him!!"

Peaches squealed and streaked off across the road like a bolt of lightening for the safety of his home, before Eddie pounded him to a pulp.  Alas for Peaches' future credibility, there was no Eddie there.  There never had been - but Peaches didn't know that.  Chuckling to myself, I turned to re-enter my house, only to find Honey at the other end of my garden.  She blinked her pretty ginger eyelids at me.
"I have always thought it was brilliant, the way you've stood up to Peaches."  she mewed, after a pause.
I wasn't sure what to bark.  Honey gazed at me sadly. "Who's going to deal with him now?" she asked.

"You are, Honey." I replied, with a small smile.
"Me?!  Oh no - he will kill me for sure!"
"Ah, well, there's the thing." I sighed in reply, feeling tired all of a sudden.  "Peaches is a bully.  And, like bullies of all species the world-over, he is also a coward.  Turn that to your advantage, my dear, and he won't so much as lay a claw on you."
"Thanks Jazz." said Honey, finally, with a watery smile.  "See you around."  She walked along the top of my fence and jumped down into the road on the way to her house.  Kittenjasper was waiting for her, sitting on the pavement.  As Honey reached him, he nodded to me, with a half smile.  I'm not sure he can quite bring himself to forgive me for rescuing a shrew from his clutches earlier this year.

My partner and I are going to the shops now - my partner hasn't been paid yet, so she is going to use her Christmas vouchers to buy some fresh cooked meat for me, in the hope that I might be tempted to eat.  Bye for now, then.

Good afternoon.