17 October 2005
The Supreme Being is home, but - well, ‘yikes!’ about covers it. Her head is skewed at ninety degrees to the known universe (privately I suspect that her mind always was, but that’s another matter), and she can barely stagger about. She does a lot of that, staggering and wailing. I’ve cranked the house up to hospital heat, set her bed in the bay window where she can have radiators on three sides, and am trying - with conspicuous lack of success - to persuade her to occupy it. She prefers to drag herself around in pursuit of me. ’Twas ever thus, but right now it’s pitiable.
The vet says we can hope for a slow recovery, though her head may never again sit straight on her neck. Me, I’m going to hope for a quick one, straight or otherwise. Visitors are welcome, so long as they bring grapes and chocolate. Those are for me, obviously. Misha's tastes are more carnivorous. Though she is very fond of toast.
© Chaz Brenchley 2005
Reproduced here by permission of Chaz Brenchley, who asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.