Tag Archives: vet

It’s a bit early in the day


What the hell am I doing awake at 6.30 on a Sunday morning?

I must say I’m loving this bank holiday business, even though I’m getting my days are all muddled,  every one feels like a Sunday. It is Sunday today, isn’t it?  *checks diary*.

There was a comedian on telly last night who really made me laugh. He was talking about all the different tv channels we have now, including one called ‘Yesterday’

Can you imagine telling your already confused elderly parents that ‘The Day After Tomorrow’ is on Yesterday today?  Hahaaaaa!!

Anyway,  ahem, moving on.

Yesterday I had to take our nineteen year old  cat to the vet for her toenails cutting again. This time she didn’t get the usually obligatory antibiotic so it only cost £20 instead of the £40 it cost last time which left me traumatised for a week.

This time it was the cat who was traumatised. When we got back home I let her out of the basket expecting her to run upstairs and snuggle down in her usual corner and spend the rest of the day giving me the evil eye.

That didn’t happen at all. Instead she spent the whole of the rest of the day wandering round the house screaming at the top of her voice: “MY FEEEEET! MY FEEEEEEET!!! HELP! HELP! HELP!   Ooh, tuna and goats milk! *lap, lap, lap* HELP!! MY FEEEET!!”

What a bloody racket. There was no consoling her. At least she’d got it all out of her system by bedtime or it would have been a night on the tiles for her.

In between the trip to the vet and all the howling I managed to get the spare bedroom repainted. It’s now a lovely soft shade of hospital green as opposed to the lovely soft shade of sludge green that it was before. There is really only a few shades difference but it looks so much lighter and more feminine.

While I was doing that Boofuls continued to carry out the building work in the garden. How, I have no idea. He’s managed to pull a muscle in his back and he’s walking a bit like Galen from ‘Planet of the Apes’ at the moment.

Not much point in asking him if he fancied a walk in the woods then. He doesn’t walk at the best times. I asked Batty if she fancied going with me to the enchanted wood to take some photos.  Batty is the only other member of the family who likes walking so she snapped up my offer in no time. Off we trotted to the woods, well, actually, we drove to the woods.

Now I could have taken a hoofing great camera with me, the plan was after all to take photos but I’ve decided to challenge myself and come up with an exhibition’s worth of photos of the various moors and woodlands I walk on a regular basis, all taken on my phone. Not that I’m planning an exhibition, it’s only a project for my own amusement.

Whaaaatt? On your phone? How ridiculous!  I can hear you saying. Well, actually, no.

The camera on my phone is amazing. All the photos you’re about to see were all taken using my phone. It’s not easy having no meter to take light readings from but that adds to the fun of it. All of these photos are pretty much SOOC (straight out of camera).

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This afternoon should be FAB-U-LOUS!!  Boofuls, me Lashes and Len are going to an Argentine tango workshop. I can’t wait for that!!!!  If there’s no lesson on after the workshop I think Boofuls and me might stay for a while after and get a bit of general practice in. We haven’t been dancing for weeks and it’s starting to become an issue. Let’s see how Boofuls’ back holds out first, eh?

Our “Big Adventure” to go and see the northern lights isn’t progressing terribly smoothly. I got a quote from a travel company who I think thought of a price and doubled it.  Apart from the fact they have completely ignored what I told them I wanted, they’ve quoted almost £3000 for three nights. Crikey!!

Doing some independent research, it looks like we can’t get a direct flight from Manchester or even Heathrow and we need to stop overnight in Stockholm. No big hardship, that. Stockholm’s lovely. Except.

We would arrive in Stockholm in the evening and fly out first thing the next morning so not a lot of opportunity for sightseeing, just a night in a hotel.  Major faffage!!

Research is continuing but I need to be aware that winter is peak season in Scandinavia so things are going to book up if I don’t get a wiggle on.

It’s much easier booking a holiday to Spain or Greece or somewhere!!

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£2 a toe


The trip to the vet was carried out amazingly smoothly this morning. Boofuls had the cat basket ready and hiding in a convenient place then he lulled the cat into a false sense of security, carrying her downstairs and backing in through the kitchen door so she wouldn’t see the box till it was too late.

That didn’t stop her putting up a fight but it was a fight she knew she’d already lost so she didn’t battle for long. The usual format is for her to wriggle all four feet out of your grasp and then brace herself, locking her knees (do cats have knees) against the edge of the cat box all the while howling like a banshee.

Of course, it’s a different matter at the vets.  No fighting there. There she gets as far to the back of the box as possible, just out of reach of my stupidly short arms. The only option then is to tilt the box she slides out and ends up on the examination table in an undignified heap, disorientated and eyes blinking against the bright lights.  Haha!! Advantage to the human!  Do the deed before she regains her composure.

The vet grabbed the clippers and began to snip away, the cat, much to the surprise of all of us, hardly moved at all. The only sign she was still alive was an occasional squeak and the rapid beating of her frightened little heart that I could feel through her fur.

Five minutes later and the deed was done.  The cat was declared to be in incredibly good condition for 19. The obligatory antibiotic was administered ans we were sent on our way with a cheery, “That’ll just be £40 please.”

Just? Cough. Splutter. That’s £2.00 a toe!!!

As I write this a jet plane appears to be doing low circuits above my house. Six times now it’s gone over, making it’s almighty din and I can just hear it coming back again for another go.  What a racket. If it carries on the bloody cat’ll have a heart attack and snuff it. What a waste of my £4o that’ll be.  Tsk.

Nearly due a telegram from the queen


After a quick tot up yesterday, we realised that our old cat is very near due a telegram from the queen. If she can only last a few more months….

Our people/child/dog/attention/vet  intolerant delicate little ingenue witch cat has reached the grand old age of  19 which is 92 in human years.   As you can expect at that kind of age, she is a bit rickety. The eyes have clouded over and she limps occasionally, ‘specially when the weather is cold, not that she goes out much these days.  She just holds court on the landing where the warm pipes are, and sleeps her days away.

Yesterday, during  a rare moment of playfulness with Boofuls, he noticed that her claws have grown so long they are stating to curl under. Ow! Ow! Ow!  I’ve felt those claws and they’re bloody sharp.  That means yet another trip to the vet then. That’ll be fun. NOT!

There is a grave danger that one or both  of us, or the vet or all of us will lose our faces tomorrow courtesy of those claws. She doesn’t take kindly to being messed around with, this cat. That’s always supposing we can get her to the vet’s  in the first place.

She seems to have a bit of a sixth sense when it come the the arrival of a cat basket and she can’t half shift a bit smartish on those feline tootsies when it suits her. I can see a bit of a pantomime ahead.  When she doesn’t want to go out she runs downstairs and hides under the table, when I shoo her out she runs back upstairs so we can repeat the whole performance two or three times. I swear I can hear her laughing at me puffing and panting as I teararse round the house.

Here she is in her usual spot looking all sweet, innocent and harmless. Don’t be fooled, she is a finely honed killing machine. Many a small furry or winged creature has lost it’s life because of her. Doesn’t she look gentle? Don’t get too close to your monitor or she’ll have you too:

Black cat

The other cat, you’ll be glad to know has made a full recovery. he still looks like he’s been pulled through a hedge backwards. Mostly because  every time I’d administered the greasy ‘orrible ear drops that the vet gave us he’d give his head an almighty shake and most of the thick and unctuous liquid went all over his fur. It might take a while before he regains his usual regal features:

Sulking Ragdoll cat

That floppy ear and the bedraggled coat make him look a bit of a bruiser, don’t they? He’s not at all. This cat is the most gentle creature ever.  Oh how deceptive appearances can be.

Mrs Woofy and me had a lovely walk on the moors today. It wasn’t in the least bit cold, instead it was foggy and gloomy, I suppose you can’t have everything.  Here are a few foggy photos taken on my phone. Yes, I know I’m overusing the lomo app, I just love it.

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Doncha just love that heart shaped puddle?

Christmas Eve


So, here it is, Christmas Eve.

Actually,  7.00 a.m. on Christmas Eve.

Is it the excitement of the big day tomorrow or the thought of all the work I have to get through between now and then to make the magic happen for the family that has driven me out of my bed at such a stupidly early hour when I’m not working or could it something a bit more mundane? Something like, for instance, the snore meister driving out of my warm, comfy bed once again?

Yup. You got it in one. It’s the snore meister striking again. I could have done a bit of striking of my own but decided that it wouldn’t be good for marital harmony. No amount of bellowing “SHUDDUP!” in his ear or poking him with a sharp elbow made any difference so I got up to chat with you instead.

I’m feeling a bit cheated in the Christmas tree department this year. The tree we got is undoubtedly very beautiful, bedecked as it is in all it’s finery. It isn’t a hump backed tree or suffering from any kind of male pattern baldness, it doesn’t lean awkwardly and is beautifully proportioned, it isn’t stunted in height nor does it go in for streaking by shedding all it’s needles every time everyone looks at it the wrong way.

Sounds like a perfectly well behaved, polite and well brought up tree, doesn’t it.  It just has the one MAJOR fault.

It smells of………..nothing.

Where’s the gorgeous evocative christmas tree smell that fills me with nostalgia and makes my tum tickle with excitement at the thought of Christmas being just a few days away? There isn’t even a whiff of it. Before you ask. No. I didn’t buy a fake tree by mistake.  I know there are some very good ones around but even I’m not that stupid, stressful as it’s been over the last week or two.

Am I?  I’d better go and check. No. It’s definitely real!

I may have to go and squirt toilet cleaner all over it to make it smell of pine and then tie a few cinnamon sticks to it for added depth and then get a dog or two to pee up it for the finishing touches.

My poor posh cat has had a time of it this last week or two.

Firstly, I set about him with a grooming brush and clippers a couple of weeks ago.  Every winter his fur gets matted but this year it was worse than normal so I ended up clipping huge great rugs from each side of him. I’ve since been seen down the local market hawking thses rugs since his fur is as lovely and soft as pashmina. I got a good price for them as well, I can tell you. Great lumps of cat fur are now gracing the doorsteps of local gentry.  I’ve also been selling the fur that I’ve extracted as I’ve combed him to local gypsies who have been sending it to the gnome down the road to weave  into a tapestry for the forthcoming royal wedding. (I’ve been watching too many pantomimes!).

What? Don’t believe me? You don’t think one cat can possibly have had that much fur removed? Well just take a look:

One very Pi55ed off cat

So apart from the shame of being shaved and sporting a very trendy (if I say so myself) mohican. The poor creature has since developed a problem with his ear. I noticed it the other night when he sat under the Christmas tree crying. I thought he was crying because it had no scent and he felt a bit cheated but it turned out he was crying because a lump the size of a grape had appeared in his ear and was clearly causing him great distress.

Off to the vet we popped. The cat had needles stuck into his ears and came out minus 10 mls of blood that they drained off his ear. I came out  minus the £60 they drained off me.  All’s well that end’s well, I hear you thinking.

But no, that would be far too simple. After risking losing my face administering the ear drops as I’d been instructed, I noticed the lump had returned.

Bloody hell!

Back to the vet’s we popped, this time with the cat growling ‘ you’re gonna pay for this, bitch’ under his breath at me all the way.

The vet stuck the needle in his ear again. And again. And again. All the while the cat looked at me malevolently, the threat of retribution in his eye as he held my gaze.  “We need a bigger syringe,” the vet announced. The cat’s legs buckled, as did mine. Poor kitty had a huge needle stuck in his ear followed by another one, this time injecting him with steroid.

Steroid! Don’t give him steriods!! He’ll be wrestling Great Danes to the ground with one paw!  Not to mention what he’s going to do to me when we get home!!

With instructions to give him yet more ear drops, this time in both ears, we were sent away once again, ear and wallet both stinging.

Unsurprisingly, the cat won’t come near me now. He sits on the landing,  kissing his steroid built muscles like a body builder and staring at me as if daring me to approach him. The ear drop game is developing into the sport of cat wrestling.  I think we may start to sell tickets soon. If I’m going to lose my face via the cat’s claws I may as well make some money out of it!

The snow and ice have resolutely stayed with us. As you already know, I love this weather. Not so much when it comes to driving on it but you can’t have everything.

Isn’t it funny how you develop new strategies and adapt behaviours as conditions change?

I used to get in my car and drive away. Easy.

Now I get in my car, sit sideways on the seat and clap my feet together like a seal for a minute or two. Not for the entertainment of passing strangers, or in the hope of getting the odd mackerel thrown to me, you understand. It’s to get rid of all the ice on my boots before I set off driving. One scare too many in the, ‘feet sliding off brake pedal’  department  soon taught me that strategy – and if I get the occasional mackerel as a result then that’s just a bonus, isn’t it?

Just to keep the winter theme going, here are a few more photos:

icy reservoir
winter walk
icy cobweb
icy leaf

And finally: Hasn’t Baby Bunting grown?

Baby Bunting