It has not been the best of weekends here at the Manor.
It started on Saturday evening when I went to replenish Herself’s pill box. You know the things? Little strips of boxes for morning and evening supply of drugs for the week. It was then I discovered that I was out of supplies and of course the Chemist was closed.
Fuck! Herself was going to have to survive the weekend unsedated.
Sunday morning wasn’t too bad. The withdrawals had started but we hadn’t yet reached the stage where I needed to strap her to the bed.
Then the Cat went missing. I saw this as a little ray of sunshine on an otherwise dull day but Herself wasn’t happy. She wanted the Cat back. And she wanted the Cat back immediately. There was nothing for it but to search everywhere. No sign. I began singing for joy.
Then I went into my bedroom for something. There was the Fucking Cat. The little shit had nosed her way in and the door had swung closed behind her. Herself was pleased at the return of the little arsehole. I wasn’t.
By Sunday night Herself’s room had become a no-fly zone. Cat was the only one who could enter and hope to survive. I went to bed.
I got undressed while Penny curled up at the side of my bed. I got in. I got out again really fucking quickly. The bed was drenched! I inspected it and sure enough the entire lower half of the bed was sopping wet, right through the duvet to the mattress. Fucking Cat had pissed on it! I swear that cat’s internal organs consist of one gigantic bladder as the volume of piss was quite astounding. I had to move to another bed.
Things are better today. I have been to the Chemist so Herself is back with a smile on her face. The Cat is steering well clear of me. And an electric blanket that I handed in for cleaning ages ago has finally turned up [having done a tour of the shop’s chain of branches].