todayiamadaisy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
todayiamadaisy) wrote2016-05-08 03:13 pm
todayiamadaisy) wrote2016-05-08 03:13 pm
Seeking Love
I'm not generally very good at remembering specific dates. Christmas. My birthday. My mum's birthday. All horses' birthday. D-Day. The introduction of decimal currency in Australia. Some of those dates are more useful to me than others, but these are what my brain chooses to remember.
Not by the date, but the event, this weekend marks one year since I decided to get a new cat. It's my mother's May quilt camp. This time last year, that meant she organised John's son to come and stay with him for the weekend, which meant I wasn't required to assist with him. I had the weekend at home by myself, and the weather was too cold and wet to go out, and the house was so quiet. And here we are a year later: it is cold and wet, my mother is at her camp, John's son rang yesterday to say his step-daughter has moved into John's house as a house-sitter, and I am squished up one end of the sofa while Alistair stretches out across the rest of it.
As it happened, I found Alistair at the shelter one day after he had his final vaccinations, so he has had a blissful, vet-free year. That's going to end in the next week or so, poor lamb. (He's not good with people.) I have a dilemma, though. Since moving to the City by the Sea, I have always frequented, let's call them Vet #1. They've always been pretty good. Until Percy. They forgot to chip Percy the first time round, which is no big deal, just that I had an illegal cat until l took him back a year or so later. His second round of visits led to his disastrous final surgery, which... I mean, things happen. Surgery goes wrong. A cough can be a precursor to something much more serious. I know all that. But they never billed me for his final surgery, which I find... a bit weird? Also, I still feel a bit sick when I think about Percy alone and in pain there.
Then there is Vet #2. I've never been to them, but as well as their surgery, they have the RSPCA contract, so they did Alistair's last vaccinations. I don't suppose they would remember him from all the other cats at the shelter, or he them, but going to them would be a stab at continuity of care. Decisions, decisions.
This week, I took some old stuff to the electronic waste disposal workshop. I had to walk past about one hundred TV monitors neatly laid out on the floor like an army of eyes.
"Knit Every Day" May continues.
Some days I've knitted more than one row. At this rate, I will be wearing this cardigan in 2019.
Not by the date, but the event, this weekend marks one year since I decided to get a new cat. It's my mother's May quilt camp. This time last year, that meant she organised John's son to come and stay with him for the weekend, which meant I wasn't required to assist with him. I had the weekend at home by myself, and the weather was too cold and wet to go out, and the house was so quiet. And here we are a year later: it is cold and wet, my mother is at her camp, John's son rang yesterday to say his step-daughter has moved into John's house as a house-sitter, and I am squished up one end of the sofa while Alistair stretches out across the rest of it.
As it happened, I found Alistair at the shelter one day after he had his final vaccinations, so he has had a blissful, vet-free year. That's going to end in the next week or so, poor lamb. (He's not good with people.) I have a dilemma, though. Since moving to the City by the Sea, I have always frequented, let's call them Vet #1. They've always been pretty good. Until Percy. They forgot to chip Percy the first time round, which is no big deal, just that I had an illegal cat until l took him back a year or so later. His second round of visits led to his disastrous final surgery, which... I mean, things happen. Surgery goes wrong. A cough can be a precursor to something much more serious. I know all that. But they never billed me for his final surgery, which I find... a bit weird? Also, I still feel a bit sick when I think about Percy alone and in pain there.
Then there is Vet #2. I've never been to them, but as well as their surgery, they have the RSPCA contract, so they did Alistair's last vaccinations. I don't suppose they would remember him from all the other cats at the shelter, or he them, but going to them would be a stab at continuity of care. Decisions, decisions.
This week, I took some old stuff to the electronic waste disposal workshop. I had to walk past about one hundred TV monitors neatly laid out on the floor like an army of eyes.
"Knit Every Day" May continues.
Some days I've knitted more than one row. At this rate, I will be wearing this cardigan in 2019.