9 April 2003
Back to the vet with my Sophie-cat today, and the news is not good. Her bloods are up, her weight is down; they've put her on steroids as a last throw, to try to get her eating. She is sweet and long-suffering, and quite loud if I leave her alone when she thinks I should be dancing attendance at her sick-bed; I am outraged on her behalf, because the print-out from the blood test describes her as 'geriatric', which she is not. She just looks ancient, my zombie-cat, queen of the undead. It occurred to me t'other day that there is a chance - a slim one, granted, but a chance none the less - that she might be the last and only living creature on the planet who bears the name Sophonisba. More likely it's big in Zanzibar, how would I know? It doesn't matter, in any case, she has her own uniquity and I don't need to cast about for my share in it. Sufficient unto herself, is my Sophie. Tho' she does like to sit on people, and preferably me.
Oddly, I did a lot of work today. Sometimes that's just the way it goes.
© Chaz Brenchley 2003
Reproduced here by permission of Chaz Brenchley, who asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.