Do small worries still matter?

Having a potentially sick cat in the house is always going to distract me from anything else that’s going on.

It’s one of those things, where you know something is up, but the cat is not telling you. You just know.

He looks sad. He looks depressed.

Grant says his eyes are sunk. 🙁

Anyway we have an appointment tomorrow at 0845.

To say : “Our cat’s not right.” Big help.

This is a picture of Colin, back in Washington, just after he “came in”. He had a thing about sitting on that plank of wood.

He wasn’t always so um, big.

He had a great appetite, but we were really always very careful about restricting the amount of food he got.

Perhaps Colin used to supplement his diet at night, the way Lily did the other day, by catching and consuming mice.

There was no shortage of those back there.

And apparently not here either.

We seem to specialize in suicidal mice.

Last night things got a little “off track” and I missed the pre-twilight visit of Mrs Plod. So, being me, I had to keep getting out of bed to go and see if she had come back. “Cos otherwise I was going to worry about her all night.

First I saw 5 raccoons.

Then I saw a skunk

But the third time I got up, I saw two raccoons and Mrs Plod, all looking keenly at some other creature, which, when I craned my neck to discover who it was, turned out to be a long-legged, long nosed animal that I took to be a coyote, though he didn’t stay around for introductions.

But at least I got to go to sleep knowing Mrs Plod was still alive and well as of 2300 hours. She does look so much healthier these days.

Back in the real world, this morning, I read Jon Katz’ blog about the awfulness of dying from covid and the troubles faced by the schools in this country, and I shook my head. How is it that I can barely manage a house with 12 cats, when the rest of the World is in a total shambles?

If I was faced with working daily in a covid ward, I know I would not last half a shift. And if I had decisions to make about whether or not to re-open my school, or how to manage all the things that have to be in place before it could even happen…I would go bonkers.

Feeling so pathetic and inadequate gets my hackles up…

Usually I don’t post snippy comments on Facebook. But this morning I got wound up by someone protesting that we should say positive things about our president, +3 hearts….I had to ask “Surely you joke, madam?” When she replied “No”, I followed up with “are you BLIND?” and was accused of hurling insults.

When I hurl insults, there is no question what they are. Methinks the lady was a tad sensitive.

Perhaps I’ll take you on one of Tim’s old “Disaster Tours”, for change of pace. Whence there is a splendid picture of me hurling insults at my fellow travellers:

But we might not start there….

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