21/02/2008 by Brigid.

A post-mortem was carried out last week and a death certificate was issued: cause of death, Deep Vein Thrombosis aggravated by early stage Multiple Sclerosis. I am, apparently, not the only one shocked by the idea that someone should die of a DVT while they are supposed to be receiving professional care in hospital. However, having established the cause of death, the family could, at least, organise Chris’s funeral, which took place yesterday.

Meanwhile, I am missing John. I’ll be honest, the cats aren’t great conversationalists. In fact, they are quite out of sorts generally. Tigger, particularly. Usually the most affectionate and good-natured of the two cats, he has been conducting a sort of dirty protest, or, as I have been referring to it, a spray-fest. Nothing is sacred. In the seven days since John left for London, Tig has sprayed on my motorcycle (parked, for the winter, in the hallway), my motorcycle luggage, my clothes, John’s ski boots (though arguably there was no appreciable difference in the odour), my backpack, an inaccessible corner of the kitchen under the sink, curtains, rugs, cushions, you name it … I have lost count of the loads of washing and buckets full of Ajax.

The cushions were a nuisance. They came with our new sofa, with non-removable covers. But the smell permeated throughout the ground floor, so there was nothing else for it. They had to be washed. How difficult could it be to empty the filling and make new inners? Unfortunately, the filling turned out to be foam. Static foam. Within moments of snipping the seam, foam started to spill out across the kitchen floor. I quickly twisted the opening to prevent the escape, only to start a minor eruption of airborne flakes. I did eventually manage to get about 95% of the filling into a dustbin liner, but the remainder clung to any available surface, including my hair and clothes. The bits that managed to float free where immediately pounced upon by the two cats, who had the greatest fun upsetting whatever I was managing to sweep into the dustpan.

By Monday, I had had enough. I booked the two cats in to be neutered. The vet said he could operate on Wednesday. It probably should have been done months ago.

Yesterday I went to collect the kids for skiing (or, in Suzy’s case, snow-boarding), and found one of their cats wandering around, looking a little the worse for wear, with a broken tail. The wound was raw, and Suzy, Claudia and I agreed that the broken end definitely needed amputating. Seeing as Billy and Mrs F are one car and driver down at the moment, I offered to take Stripes in with my two this morning.

I collected the three cats from the clinic as agreed at 6pm. Tigger and Foggy need minimal aftercare, but poor Stripes’ injury was worse than it looked, and he has been left with just a short stump for a tail, a Buster collar to prevent damage to the stitches, and a 5-day supply of antibiotics. He is normally an outdoor cat but, with the family now away on their half-term holiday, he is recuperating in our second-floor bathroom.

Luckily, they were all pretty drowsy when they arrived home, and it hasn’t yet occurred to Tigger and Foggy that there is a strange cat upstairs … How long I will be able to keep Stripes’ presence a secret, I daren’t guess. As it is, Tig is at the water-bowl, presumably reloading …

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15/02/2008 by Brigid.

Every now and again one gets a stark reminder of the fragility of human life, and this winter seems to have brought more than usual. John’s ex-wife died on Monday.

It is difficult to know what to say in these circumstances. Chris was not one for whom forgiveness came easily, and I think it would be fair to say that she remained bitter towards John to the end. However, between them, she and John produced two great kids, so things can’t always have been so bad. Anna-Marie and David are, naturally, devastated. The best I could do was put John on a plane back to London to offer some practical support and spend some, long-overdue, quality time in the bosom of his family.

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