Cyril, the three-legged monster cat, is worrying me. He has been very quiet of late. He eats his food without complaint and seems content to stay in the garden in the (intermittent) sunshine rather than launch himself haphazardly over fences towards the Very Busy Road. I'm sure he's trying to lull me into a false sense of security while secretly planning something designed to torment and distress me. I've been a cat slave for many years. I know the score. The below, courtesy of Henri Le Chat Noir sums it up.
Now, try not to get too excited but, wait for it, wait for it ..... the front garden is finished!
|The start of it all and scene of much swearing|
|See that length of drainpipe at the back of the picture? That nearly caused a divorce.|
Unfortunately the day after this little patch of paradise was completed we went to visit a friend who had just moved house. Her new garden is truly spectacular, and huge. The poor other-half was absolutely green with jealousy. He spent the evening pouring over the internet looking at properties for sale in the sticks with impressive gardens. At least that's what he told me he was looking at.
I feel a bit like I'm in limbo land. I'm going to see my employer's Occupational Health bods tomorrow about the possibility of early retirement due to ill health. I think this is just a preliminary stage and the whole process could take a while. Also I'm waiting for the effing appointment with the effing onocologist on Wednesday which, if I think about too much, makes my half-inch long hair stand on end and my knees knock. So let's not think about it and watch some rubbish tv instead. And eat cake.