I'm on antibiotics. Arm has just come out of sling. Can barely use left hand at all due to the precise location of a deep tooth-shaped wound between the tendons of my wrist. Every time I feel like a beer, which for obvious reasons is frequently, I have an almost overwhelming urge to kick the cat from one end of the house to the other.
But I don't. Though I'm more wary of him, his trust in me, despite the fact that he copped it immediately after he savaged me, is as strong as ever. He sniffs around the wound then rests against my arm, purring, as if to say forget whoever did that to you dad, I'll make you better.
Cats have neither a memory for finer nuance nor a sense of irony.
The altercation's had a bigger impact on Minh-Minh, who has been a bit out of sorts and melancholy ever since. I'm attempting to fix this with prolonged shoulder rides (she's a shoulder riding kitty) and lots of reassurance.
We need a new house. Everyone with a 3 bedroom Calibung in the area between Westgarth and Bell Street please step forward.
Television versus book versus parent versus Tim - While staying with my parents, I have had an opportunity to catch up with the art of reading while the television is on right in front of you. The art of r...
3 hours ago