Three questions.

Q1. Did you watch the Pirate episode of Doctor Who? And if so, did you sit on the couch or did you need to get Inside a Box, Under a Doona like Cherub?



He ended up on my lap and made a lot of creeped-out groaning noises, but if you suggest to him that he's maybe too young for the show he denies it strenuously. I only let them watch in daylight so they don't have nightmares.

(Lots of people tell stories of watching Doctor Who from behind the couch when they were little. Suse told me a charming story of needing to jump up quickly after watching the show that was on before Doctor Who so she could turn the tv off before the scary Doctor Who music & titles even started. The stresses, she says, of life before remote controls were invented. I used to feel that way when my parents watched Callan, now there's a show with seriously creepy music and at the end of the theme was a gunshot. Scared me to death, I used to lie in bed with a pillow over my head until the music stopped.)

Q2. Has anyone got any tips about cat physio?



Basil re-visited the vet today, because although he is recovering magnificently, he still won't put any weight on the bad leg and has instead turned himself into a very efficient tripod. The Vet sedated and x-rayed him (ouch!), and seems to think nothing is actually amiss, just that Basil needs to start working it to reverse the atrophying nerves and muscles. He's giving us some anti-inflammatories soon, and meanwhile we have to jiggle Basil's gimpy leg around a bit to encourage movement and weight-bearing. Just call us the Amateur Feline Fizzy Old Therapists. Apparently swimming is excellent therapy. That would be fun wouldn't it, making your cat swim.

Q3. Are you my Perfume Fairy Godparent? I ran out of my lovely French perfume around the time Basil ran under a car, and decided I couldn't afford to buy more until the finances were healthier. But this morning in my mailbox were two little samples for me, and I don't know who left them there.



Gosh I'm happy about it though. Smiling from ear to ear. I was pining for the Samsara, I was. Now I'm not. Thank you, thank you Kind Perfume Fairy.

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.