The Ministry for Silly Walks

Basil's recovery continues apace. Mostly he lies around in the suitcase or a box, getting lots of zzzs. But if one of us comes to sit on the floor next to him, he wonks over to sit on our laps.



If we [thoughtlessly] sit on the couch he deadset thinks he's going to jump up there to sit on our lap. He has nothing - nothing - in his hind legs at the moment, can barely balance on them and yet he reckons he can make it up to our laps. Insane kitteh. I am still taking him outside for a daily spot of glorious Autumnal sunlight, which I think is good for him. He again shows some misplaced confidence in his abilities by trying to go for little walks though. Just sun yourself, kitty. Seriously.

His wonk-walk -which I try to prevent - goes like this:
(1) left front leg [fairly upright]
(2) right front leg [bit wobbly but still upright]
(3) left rear leg, the one that is a bit damaged [wobbling like fun, tilting to side]
(4) completely *knackered rear leg [gracefully falls down on side]
(5) haul self up, start again.

He goes surprisingly fast.

*which no longer has a ball joint connecting legs to his wired-together hip & is held there only by muscles which need to adapt)

In other outside adventures, the non-eating cat, because of still being tube fed so not particularly interested in real food, ate some blades of grass yesterday. Not to make himself sick either, as far as I could tell. Just because he felt like it. And he completely freaked out when he heard the postman's motorbike ride by our house, and I mean completely. Can't decided if this is just sensible fear of all things motorised or if Australia Post owes me a small fortune in vet fees. Where is the CCTV when you need it?

Best of all though, was watching him wonk-walk as far as the door last night, whereupon he lay down next to the rug there and started to fight it. Take that rug! I got no back leg strength but I still take you!

What else?

Well, I won some very cool packing tape from the lovely Miss Pen at Cottage Industry, and it arrived yesterday along with some extra purple love. Spoiled, I am. Thank you Pen!



I've run out of my expensive French perfume, and wondered briefly if I ought not forswear such luxuries in light of the embarrassingly large vet bills (I've decided not to add them all up as actually I don't want to know just how much we spent). So I've been using up an inherited sample which is Tresor by Lancome, and yuck! It's just not me. I hate smelling it on me. Whereas the Samsara was perfect on my skin and I received lots of compliments when wearing it. Anyway, in one of those weird I-hate-my-brain-things, I keep thinking of Angela's Ashes, where the kids were starving but Angela still found the money for her cigarettes and wondering if buying the perfume I like would be the same but even worse, or allowable because we can still afford to feed the children. First world problems, eh? I suppose I could go back to Dewberry Oil from the Bodyshop for a while, recreate my teenage aroma...

I made an apple and rhubarb pie, adapting this recipe. I used 6 small granny smith apples and a bunch of rhubarb, but note to self; always check your mixture before cooking the final dish. Could have done with more sugar, I think both the rhubarb and the grannies were on the tart side. It's still lovely but gives you mild lemon-face when you eat it.



And I'm off to another Crarf Camp tomorrow with non-blogger friends - I know, here I go again with luxuries but this has been booked for ages and is my last one for the year so I think I can rationalise it to my own satisfaction. I am not at all organised for this one, beyond knowing that I'll be making apple pie for Saturday dessert and Jenny has kindly decreed that I can have The Princess Room (double bed, room to myself) in light of all the cat-stress. And on that note, I should really go pack.