Kitten update.

A little ditty. Nothing special. If anything a harmless love letter.

As I write this my lap is home to more than a computer. Between the electronic device and a gut that has ballooned slightly after a grim 5 days observing dementia in action in Dundee sits a very quiet little kitten.

Just to fill you in: ‘the wife’and I have just returned from Scotland where her mother is slowly entering another dimension altogether. The drive is always horrific and is only negotiable by moving as fast as mechanically capable and with as few stops as possible and to be honest it’s good to be at home again. The kitten stayed with my sister while we were away (a Pride of  Britain nomination has been sent to Carol Vorderman) and until this morning seemed a very happy kitten indeed.

We often wonder if the kitten is either very clever or very stupid, but either way at least last night she had cottoned on to something. Have a rosette. Every time I woke up she was squeaking away downstairs and wondering why we’d take away her food and drink. She was right to wonder and she was also right to look most resigned this morning when she accepted the offer of being locked in her box and taken to the Vetty Vet McVettersons.

The poor cow has has just been spayed. She’s just been tidied up downstairs. She’s just had a role in feline procreation taken off the menu. She’s just had her lady-parts tinkered with. She’s just had her fiddly kitty bits permanently altered. Her fanny doesn’t work properly anymore. Surely you understand by now. Of course even the sharpest of cats wouldn’t know when its going to happen and the sharpest of scalpels can’t tell them how it will turn out, but from her current demeanour its safe to say she probably doesn’t know what’s hit her.

Anyway, I’ve been in the process of writing 3 different things over that last few days (on dementia/care homes, Sam Smith and something else that now escapes me (must be good!)) and not getting round to finishing them, so why not spend a few moments thinking about the most special lady in my life. After ‘the wife’, it goes without saying.

The hairy one has been ever so subdued since she got back and has even struggled to climb on the sofa to sit on my lap, but I’m glad she has finally made the effort. I felt a bit sick when I dropped her off this morning and then felt buttered with relief when she came back in one piece this afternoon (well not quite, but since I’m not entirely qualified to identify the piece she no longer has we’ll skip that bit).

I am as close as I’ll probably ever be to having a child (great news) and she is ever so lovely and soft and gorgeous. Especially right now, because she hasn’t got the energy to sink her teeth into my ankle and scratch my wrist to ribbons. She’s that much of terror that normally she can do both those things at the same time. Now that’s love for you.

G B Hewitt. 24. 10. 2017