A Week
It's been a week. Just one week.
This time last week, we were out searching for our errant cat. It was snowing, but we hoped he was just being naughty and following us.
The Baron thought he saw a little white face peeking out from under a tree. I felt him nearby. We were wrong.
Harvey was several hundred metres away, by the side of the road.
But we were right. We are both sure that he found us that night to say goodbye.
I can't believe it has been a week.
What was I thinking?
Miss Puddleduck lives up to her name.
Puddles everywhere.
I am so used to cats - just show them the tray and all is well - that I had overlooked this bit.
D'oh!
When will it get better?
The day started off so well. I didn't cry when Harvey wasn't there to trip me up. I smiled when I saw the obvious pleasure Charlie gets from being the first to eat. Ellie spent five minutes twisting around my ankles and Willow sat on my lap whilst I got ready. Frankie followed me everywhere I went.
Then the post came. All of the cats micro-chip certificates had arrived. Including Harvey's.
Fat lot of good that will do him.
I remember when I took him to have it done. I was holding him - it is one big fuck off needle they use - and he cried out. I held him whilst the vet finished all the paperwork. We hadn't moved yet, but to save the change of address fee we put down my new address. I joked that I'd better not lose him or he'd get there before we would!
He was micro-chipped. He had his vaccinations. He was wormed and de-flea'd. I treated his weak eye whenever it got inflamed and sore. I took care of his teeth. But none of it was enough.
I love all of my pets but I can feel myself pulling away from them. I cannot go through this with each of them.
All change
Harvey is gone. The house just doesn't feel the same without that little bugger and the way he ruled us all with a furry paw. I miss him so much it still hurts. I am having trouble eating and sleeping, and my concentration is shot to buggery.
Frankie does nothing but sit on the windowsill, looking down on Harvey's grave and crying. Charlie sits with him, and grooms his face. Harvey used to groom Frankie's face.
Ellie and Willow sit in the spare bedroom together, and Hollie comes out in the evening to check on me.
But things must move on.
We had arranged to pick up Lila on Saturday, before Harvey carried out his badly thought out attack on a moving car.
But we decided to bring that forward. Partly because the cats are so stressed anyway and partly as a distraction.
So, without further ado, I present to you:
Miss Lila!
Lila 
The End
Harvey went missing on Sunday. The last I saw of him was him gleefully climbing the fence to look at the birds at next door's birdtable.
We called him intermittently all afternoon. As it grew closer to dusk, we went out and checked all around the neighbourhood.
All through the night we went out looking for him. He'd never been out after dark. It was cold and snowing, and he hated the cold. He wouldn't go outside if it was cold.
Even then I knew that something was wrong. He would have come if he could have.
I went to bed in the early hours. The Baron continued to search. At five, I felt a cat land on me. My heart soared - Harvey was home!
But it wasn't Harvey. It was Charlie taking over Harvey's job of waking me.I counted the minutes until the sun rose. Then I walked around the neighbourhood again, in my dressing gown. In the snow. The neighbours were surprised!
I had to leave for work. The Baron carried out on looking. He made a poster for us to put up.
Work was awful - I couldn't concentrate. I came home as soon as I could, and sped down the motorway.
We set off around the neighbourhood with our posters, torches and cat treats. Nothing like his favourite biscuit to lure him home.
It was so cold, it was difficult to push the tacks in to hold up the posters. We plastered the village from one end to the other. We put a few up outside the school, knowing that the children would want to help by checking garages and sheds.
We came home and waited. It didn't take long.My phone rang. It was a woman asking if I had put up the posters. I could feel hope spreading through me as she spoke. Then the two words.
"Bad news"
That was it. All over.
She came over to tell me in person.Harvey had been found on Sunday evening after a church meeting. He had been hit by a car on the sharp corner that brings you into our village. There wasn't a mark on him.
He was already cold, and there was nothing that could be done. They took his body out of the road and wrapped him up, so as not to upset the children the next morning on the way to school.They put notes through the houses nearest to explain, since Harvey would not wear a collar. Kept chewing them off.
The next day she saw us putting up our posters. And she knew who to call.
I collected his body and brought him home. The Baron didn't want to see his body, but I had to. I cuddled him whilst the Baron dug him a grave in the garden. The others came and sniffed him.
I didn't want to put him down again. He started to warm in my arms, and I could feel that his back had been broken. His end had come quickly. Too fucking quickly - he was two and a half.
The Baron left me to bury Harvey - he couldn't do it. I cuddled him and placed him in his grave. I threw the earth over his face first and I thought my heart would break. To see my baby, so full of life and mischief, lying in a hole in the fucking ground, still, cold and lifeless, was too much.I shut my eyes as I finished covering him.
I couldn't bear to see any part of him there. He didn't belong there, he belonged on my bed cuddling his brother.
And that was that.
We have marked his resting spot with some beautiful stones. White with black speckles, just like him. The Baron has made him a little headstone, and I have put my favourite cat ornament on his grave.Harvey is the first thing I see when I open my curtains in the morning.
I just can't believe that he is out there and not here with us. I can't believe that he is gone.
Harvey Cat. My first, my best, my soul cat.
Harvey
Harvey
My Baby Bat Ears
Harvey didn't feel the cold last night.
He sleeps in the garden next to his favourite tree, under the eyes of those who loved him best.
Harvey, my little furry angel, I will miss you forever.
Still
Still snowing.
Still cold.
Still the Baron is in pain.
Still no cat in sight.
As if things couldn't get any worse....
The Baron is in a lot of pain, and can barely turn his head, let alone walk. I just fused all the lights upstairs. And to top things off........
Harvey is missing. It is snowing and it is dark.
I hate this miserable fucking weekend.
Extremely close call
The Baron was knocked down by a speeding fork lift truck at work at lunchtime yesterday.
He was thrown a good fifteen feet through the air when it hit him (at about thirty miles an hour) and landed on his side, by the side of the truck where it finally had come to a stop.
He was knocked out on impact.
When he finally came to, he was taken, not to hospital as one might expect, but up to the first aid room to sign various pieces of paperwork. After an hour and a half they finally took him to hospital, which is where I was called from.
After lots of tests, X-rays and observation he was released late night. He has whiplash, scrapes from the forks, mild concussion, and severe bruising around his bones on the right side (which took the impact). He is understandably very sore, and is having a lot of trouble getting around.
He has been signed off indefinitely to heal. The leniency (trust me, this is leniency as opposed to common decency) comes from the fact it was the worst accident to date at the warehouse (and was also witnessed by a large number of staff) and that the driver of the fork lift truck was on his final warning for speeding.
Guess what he is most pissed off about?
The fact he has nary a scrape on his body! There are a couple of scrapes on his back, and that is it.
The doctor said that he must be made of steel to have walked away with so few injuries. It's true. He's never broken a bone in his body, so why start now when you get knocked over?
Very scary few hours.
Apologies for the drama. I wasn't given any information over the phone other than the name of the hospital and the fact that he had been knocked down, and of course I immediately assumed the worst.
Quickie...
I'm on my way to the hospital.
The Baron has been knocked down.
Nerd Alert!
Piss
I've been messing around trying to finish my new template.
So far so good.
But do you think I can import my posts here over there? Course not. It might help things along if I knew what a FTP was, let alone how to save my posts and then import them from that.
But I don't have a scooby.
I am reasonably intelligent. Sort of. Maybe.
So why can't I do a simple fucking import without someone to hold my hand?
If anyone wants to hold my hand, they can. I have ice cream.
Just because it so sweet.
Poseur!!
The Baron at Buckingham Palace.
Do you like my new mattress?
We honestly did not stage this this one!
Just relaxing.......
Three little cats........
Remember my sweet little kitten and her surrogate Mum in the form of a neutered and quite dopey Frankie?
Me and my holiday cat.
The horror!!!
Happy at last. We won the stuffed Hagrid's - after spending about 20 Euro's and winning all manner of other toys!
Pool tart.
Me and my Spideys.
Getting very cross
Now Blogger is refusing to show posts shown as published. As well as not updating the profile page, eating posts for breakfast and not always even opening.
My new template is nearly ready.
Change is in the air.............
Oh and......
....9 days to my dog!
The water is now very safe.....
.........as I have just flushed my contraceptive pills away as promised.
Ok, I haven't really. The environment is fucked up enough as it is.
But guess who is the first to know my cousin and his girlfriend are expected their second child?
Completely unrelated, but is anyone else finding blogger to be a pain in the arse of late? I am toying with the idea of moving to Typepad, but of course then I have to pay.
10 days to go....
.....until I have a dog.
A dog.
Me. With six cats. Going to have a dog.
I'm getting a wee bit nervous.
Will she eat the cats?
Will Harvey not so surgically remove her nose?
Will she eat the walls like her cousin Samson did?
Will the cats ever forgive me?
Will my bank balance ever recover?
But.........
I am also getting really excited. My very own dog.
Puppy puppy puppy!!!!!!
Unresolved
Firstly, I would like to say that I am pissed as a fart again. I just met up with some old school friends, who I haven't seen in eight years, and we had a really good time. We are going to meet up for a meal next week.
Naturally, one is pregnant (as is every single female I know of my age in real life barring my sister). So now I know two unpregnant women.
I feel so much better. End sarcasm.
The Baron is still somewhat shag-shy now that I am contraception free. Obviously, this isn't an area that he can be tricked into/forced into, but it deeply pisses me off. He has a slightly long record of saying things and then not following through (usually out of laziness) so this wasn't unexpected. I confess to be disappointed.
But I will ride it out.
Cecily kindly answered my question on declawing cats and animal rights.
I admit that I don't understand it and I don't think I will. It is partly cultural, as in we just don't do it here in the UK. Cats come with claws and that is just how it goes.
I'm not sure I would have it any other way. Apart from the fact I feel it is mutiliation, my cats just wouldn't be the same without their claws. My breasts would, since they like bare flesh, but with a toss up between intact skin and feeling their happy feet waking me up in the morning, I know what I would choose every time.
I do believe that if you want intact furniture to the point you would remove the top joint of a creatures toes, then you have no business owning said pet. That is my opinion. Of course, it doesn't necessarily make these people bad owners at all, but I simply disagree with their actions.
I would rather see cats declawed than put down for lack of a home. I really would, and I speak as someone with three rescue cats. But I stil believe that at the end of the day that cats deserve their claws.
And I am off to bed to sleep off an obscene number of double Bacardi's and Coke. Work tomorrow. Good night.
Mr Fickle
The Baron and I had a talk on New Year's Eve. A biggie.
We came to the decision that we would abstain from abstaining any longer and just see what happened. Whilst it wasn't a "let's get trying NOW" result, it was an improvement on the "so what does you chart say today? Can we shag?" conversations held in bed. Real mood killer, that.
He of course wants to be relieved whilst we are waiting for the danger to pass, and so wants my help. In fairness, he will reciprocate, but not with the good stuff. Unless I fancy some rubber action, which I most certainly do not.
So all well and good. I at least have the chance to hope, and we both get some loving out of it.
Fast forward to now. Day 7. Still (based on my cycles) far too early to start picking out names.
And the fucker has changed his mind. No loving in the DMouse House.
Not so
Going back to work was not peaceful. Or restful. I think I need another holiday already.
And an extremely heavy frying pan.
I woke up to the Litter Tray From Hell. I probably don't need to elaborate.
So I cleaned it. Whilst I got their breakfast ready, the little bastards proceeded to refill the tray. How, I don't know, since it looked like all six had already shat out their entire body weight, but clearly they had saved some back just for me.
So I cleaned it again.
Then discovered the Baron had eaten most of the contents of the fridge and left the rubbish in out in the living room. With a forced smile on my face (determined to start the day off properly) I cleaned that up.
After that came sandwich making time. This would have gone better if the Baron had not left the bread open, as personally, I prefer not to have stale bread. Took a handful of fruit instead.
I finally left. And got stuck in a major traffic jam, caused by a melting warehouse. One and a half hours to travel three and a half miles.
I arrived, busting for the toilet.
That is when I found out the lift weren't working and I had to drag my arse up three flights of stairs. With my laptop and file bag. With no lights working on the stairwell.
I got to the top, thinking I would nip to the toilet before going in.
No such luck, as someone has put a fucking keypad on the toilet door, and I have no idea what the code is.
So I go in. Drop my stuff, get that damn code and run to the toilet.
Several meetings later (where no-one knows anything) I am left alone. With nothing to do, as people are assembling the paperwork I requested (requested several times over the past month).
And then it is time to go home.
Sat on the other side of the traffic jam. Get somewhat desperate for the toilet (my bladder is beyond pathetic)
The Baron stole my parking space so I had to drive out again to find one. Walked home in the rain. Couldn't see the keyhole as the arsehole hadn't turned the outside light on. Nearly broke my neck tripping over the post that he didn't pick up.
Cleaned the litter tray again. Fed the monsters, who are clearly starving to death and must therefore cry piteously whilst I spend all of ten seconds getting their food out of the cupboard.
And the clincher?
"What's wrong with you? You seem in a bad mood"
I'm going to fucking kill someone.
My Plan
First things first.
Puppy! Meeting Lila was great. All the puppies were full of mischief and spent the visit trying to eat my jumper. They all look like little bears and I can't wait to bring her home. The cats probably could wait a lifetime for that.
Back to my Plan.
I go back to work tomorrow. I took some extra holiday so that I could get things done around the house after the holidays. My Plan was:
Paint the spare room - done.
Clean the house (top to bottom) - done.
Get up to date with the washing and keep it that way - done.
Make a list of all the food/bathroom/household supplies we have - done.
Sort out our filing system (monster task) - done.
Sort out a music practice schedule - done and started.
Create an exercise schedule - done but not started. Still getting rid of this cold.
Note down all of my books - done. That took forever!
Sort out my freezer - done.
Deal with all my work files - done.
Sort out my home office supplies - done. And I hoard this stuff so there was a lot.
Clear my To Do file of paperwork - all bills paid. The Baron's speeding ticket dealt with.
Register the cat's micro-chips - finally done. Thankfully I didn't lose any.
Set up my 2005 calendar - done.
Spend some time with the Boy - done lots of that.
Tidy and re-organise the cupboard under the stairs.
Watch Jerry Springer - the Opera - done. It was v funny, and I have some great new insults.
I suspect going back to work will be a nice rest.
Lila
We are going to visit her tomorrow. In three weeks time, we get to bring her home!
Doggy
Fucking sick
I am trying so hard to restrain myself on this.....
http://democracyforvirginia.typepad.com/democracyforvirginia/2005/01/legislativesen.html
What the fuck is wrong with this wankstain? Land of the free, my fucking arse.
Clearly this man has never had a partner who has lost a pregnancy. I'd be surprised if he has even had sex.
One good thing...
.. about this cold is that my jeans are now too big for me.
I like.
Hot cold hot cold hot cold
One minute I am cold, the next I am roasting alive in my own skin. Then just as I remove the last piece of clothing I can remove without flashing my wares to the world, I am plunged back into the icy depths. And so the cycle continues.
The Baron claims he is dying from a cold. He is currently dying on the sofa downstairs. Alone. I do not feel particularly sympathetic to his impending doom since I had to pick up the manky tissues he had strewn around the computer.
I'm also fairly sure that dying people do not eat two big bowls of lemon chicken soup, a packet of crisps and four peanut butter sandwiches whilst watching Star Wars. Just my gut feeling.
Cold begone!
Abnormal
I had a phone call last night from the Boy. No singing this time.
Boy: Hello Auntie, I am abnormal.
Auntie: I know that. Who told you?
Boy: The thermometer. I have a temperature of 89 and Daddy says I am dead.
Auntie: That's nice. Does your body know that?
Boy: I'm not dead (amidst lots of wailing), I'm abnormal. Mummy said so.
Auntie: Okkaaaaayyyyyyyy. But I don't think Mummy meant your temperature.
Boy: Nanny took it and it was........
Lots of whispers in the background
Boy: 98 and 60.
Auntie: But that is completely normal. Not freakish. Not dead.
Boy: So I am not abnormal?
Auntie: Yes you are, but that is nothing to do with your temperature. Go bug somebody else.
Boy: OK. Bye Auntie!
Hungover
Last night wasn't too bad at all. The fucktard didn't bother to show up. Quelle domage.
Those who did are our oldest friends, and we had a great night. Lots of drinking, eating, and chatting. Plus they all love cats, so we didn't have to keep them upstairs.
So I am somewhat hungover this morning, and I have the post party debris still to clear away downstairs. Our guests offered to help, but we decided it would simply be easier to leave it until morning.
Here's to a great 20o05!
