-Mac and Gemma sunning-
Justice has not been done to the happenings of the past few days, as I simply haven’t had time. I should try, in any case, as a good example of the helter-skelter of our lives.
Our moustached black and white cat, Mo, who has often been featured in these pages, started going downhill fast last week, and we took him to the vet on Wednesday. Friday night was a disturbed one, and I took him to the vet again when they opened on Saturday. I knew what the verdict would be. I returned home with an empty basket and a heavy heart. He was only twelve, but his body had simply started shutting down. Strange the way that happens – with some cats as young as eight or nine while others can go well into their twenties. Come to think of it, I suppose humans are much the same. Anyway, RIP Mole. You gave us a lot of joy, and your brother is certainly missing you. He dug me up at regular intervals last night for a cuddle.
Then, later on Saturday, we went to the swim-school’s gala where just-turned-three R distinguished herself. Mainly swimming against four-year-olds, she won two golds and a silver, and a medal for swimming 25 metres freestyle, and another for the most consistent progress during the year. Unfortunately, the space was limited and parents were swarming, so I didn’t come up with any photos other than those containing heads of parents.
On Sunday I decided to pass up a visit to the Animal Farm, and instead took the Pooch Pack to the beach. The six out of seven (Storm I no longer take because of his genius for getting lost) charged eagerly ahead of me down the path, and in due course I heard the most extraordinary sounds. They made me think of a banshee on helium. On coming over the last dune I discovered the cause was a lady of apparent Indian extraction – judging from the sari – who was standing waist-deep in seawater and staring bug-eyed at the dogs – who were all ignoring her. They weren’t even near her. A couple were rolling, and the sheepdogs were rushing around sniffing at interesting smells as they usually do.
Anyway, when she saw me appear, she gave a few closing squeaks before emerging from the water and scuttling off down the beach as fast as the hobble effect of her soggy sari would allow. I suppose it was unkind to be amused at what was obviously a great fright to her – but I couldn’t help it. Anyway, I then went on to score 2 cowries on a beach that really seemed barren of shells. The dogs had a ball.
Today I managed a shorter visit to the beach and then I did battle with a certain bank. It has come to my notice that they have seen fit to change their address records, for all those who live in a very long street in a very large suburb, to a different street name. It so happens that a street of a similar name in the actual city has had its name changed, but this one hasn’t.
First of all, I had the devil’s own job of getting it into various thick skulls that I wasn’t simply trying to get my own address rectified, but those of all other affected customers as well. They had done the alteration in bulk; surely they could do the same for the correction. Then I was passed from one person to the next, given numbers to phone which were out of date, and generally, messed around right royally. All my wonderful resolutions about keeping my cool slowly evaporated, and I ended up in the state of incoherent rage which usually attends such endeavours these days.
I finally got an official number to quote and an assurance that someone would get back to me. Why is it, I wonder, that I have this grave suspicion that they won’t?
Baby J and proud big sister R are thriving. I am being blamed for turning R into a monster. She is already doing things like calling a certain Colleen of her ken ‘Colleen Black Label’. Not as a mistake, but as a deliberate play on words followed by a giggle! Not bad, for three!
I played the Siamese Cat song from Lady and the Tramp over and over to her during the weekend. She adores it, and I must say it is one of the really brilliant bits of Disney animation.
© May 2011 Colonialist (Letterdash/Wordpress)