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Fucking hell, my mother's cat is trying to kill me.
Went over to Grimmauld Place first thing this morning instead of last night to feed and pet her. I'm eight hours later than I planned to be and I'm already feeling bad, but I collapsed last night. I couldn't do it. Anyway. I get there, I fill a dish with prawns (yes, she's spoilt as hell) and call her.
No cat.
I look in her usual spots: the windowsill in Mum's room, the windowsill in Sister E's room, E's wardrobe, Mum's sock shelf.
No fucking cat.
I start looking in less likely spots - the airing cupboard, the bathroom, under Mum's TV table, behind the couch downstairs, the kitchen. I'm calling her and waving prawns the whole time.
Still no fucking cat.
This is where I lose it. I envision Mum's face when she asks how Maisie's doing (and it's always the first thing she says) and I tell her she's vanished off the face of the earth. I try and imagine myself lying to Mum with a straight face and I'm not sure I can do that either. I get out my mobile and ring the last person to see her, my sister T. Did T open any windows? Could she have slipped out the front door without T noticing? T says not, she was on the bedroom windowsill. I start searching the house again.
And there she bloody is. She's sitting in a cardboard box on Sister E's bookshelf.
...I feel like I deserved that. I should have gone over last night, but I barely managed to take the dogs out to pee. And she'd been visited yesterday already, so I knew she had food and water. I took a bus over this morning. The dogs have been pretty good about being left alone so far, but not today - something must have set them off because I could hear a first-class barking jag from the bus stop. I think I'm going to have to write a note for my neighbours explaining that this is a short term deal and begging them not to put in any complaints. I wish that fucking harness would turn up, then at least I'd only have to leave them here for hospital visits.
Went over to Grimmauld Place first thing this morning instead of last night to feed and pet her. I'm eight hours later than I planned to be and I'm already feeling bad, but I collapsed last night. I couldn't do it. Anyway. I get there, I fill a dish with prawns (yes, she's spoilt as hell) and call her.
No cat.
I look in her usual spots: the windowsill in Mum's room, the windowsill in Sister E's room, E's wardrobe, Mum's sock shelf.
No fucking cat.
I start looking in less likely spots - the airing cupboard, the bathroom, under Mum's TV table, behind the couch downstairs, the kitchen. I'm calling her and waving prawns the whole time.
Still no fucking cat.
This is where I lose it. I envision Mum's face when she asks how Maisie's doing (and it's always the first thing she says) and I tell her she's vanished off the face of the earth. I try and imagine myself lying to Mum with a straight face and I'm not sure I can do that either. I get out my mobile and ring the last person to see her, my sister T. Did T open any windows? Could she have slipped out the front door without T noticing? T says not, she was on the bedroom windowsill. I start searching the house again.
And there she bloody is. She's sitting in a cardboard box on Sister E's bookshelf.
...I feel like I deserved that. I should have gone over last night, but I barely managed to take the dogs out to pee. And she'd been visited yesterday already, so I knew she had food and water. I took a bus over this morning. The dogs have been pretty good about being left alone so far, but not today - something must have set them off because I could hear a first-class barking jag from the bus stop. I think I'm going to have to write a note for my neighbours explaining that this is a short term deal and begging them not to put in any complaints. I wish that fucking harness would turn up, then at least I'd only have to leave them here for hospital visits.
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