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.
My latest article is about the economics of divorce and dependency - Here is my latest article for Daily Life: And dependence is a funny word to use for older women. By the time they are claiming the aged pension, paltry as ...
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