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Saturday, January 23, 2010

Olga's arrival

Early this morning I picked up Olga, who had flown all night to get here, from the airport. A diversion due to a traffic accident routed us through St. Paul, which we took as an omen (as we drove up to it and realised that we were both starving) that we were meant to eat breakfast in Mickey's Diner. So we did. Olga spent a lot of the time playing with the Nexus 1.

We drove home through fog and something that would have been an ice-storm if it had been two degrees colder, but was just drizzle. Eventually, we got here, and headed up to the attic. I was worried that Zoe would have died while we were away, or not really be there any longer, but no, she was awake and there. Still Zoe's weaker each day. She responds less, and while she's happy to be petted, tends, mid-pet, to get down from the bed, walk away until she's somewhere away from where she sleeps, then make a sort of yelping barking screechy noise like a small eagle in distress, and throw up a foamy liquid.


Eventually, Zoe stopped throwing up and relaxed.


At the point where they both seemed comfortable, I went off to take the Dog (who is unimpressed by the lack of attention he's been getting) for a walk in the sleety rain. Or the rainy sleet. It's harder to keep warm AND dry than it is to keep warm. This is me deciding that it may be a mistake trying to take a photograph on a nice new phone-camera in the freezing rain with rapidly numbing fingers.


Not that the dog minded. He was just happy not to be bored and left on his own in the kitchen.



...

You know, the FAQ mailbox has filled with messages from people, from many, many hundreds of you, almost all of you telling a heartbreaking or heartwarming (or, very often, both at the same time) story of how a beloved cat died. I'm reading all of them. Sometimes it's uplifting, and sometimes it feels like I'm marching through The Valley of the Shadow of Death of Cats. But I am reading all of them, and I appreciate them so much.

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