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Update
5 November 2005
Guy Fawkes Night, and it’s mad out there: streets full of smoke, like living under an artillery barrage. I can’t remember when the west end went this wild.
Thankfully, Misha is half deaf and hasn’t really twigged that anything worth noting is going on. For those of you who’ve been asking, she’s getting better, thanks: eating well now (thanks to m’friend Simon providing packets of what she clearly thinks is ambrosia; in fact it’s past its sell-by date, but then, so I guess is ambrosia) and bumbling around the house like a good ’un.
For those of you who’ve been suggesting that even for a man with a sick cat, there must be life beyond the sick cat: well, yes. I’m sure you’re right. It just doesn’t hold much value at the moment. When I say I’m tired and emotional tonight, that is not a metaphor.
© Chaz Brenchley 2005
Reproduced here by permission of Chaz Brenchley, who asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.