Today we took the kittens to be neutered. I thought a nice picture of Grolly's scar might be a fitting photo for this post. But they had other ideas and refused to show it to the camera.
Take two kittens, starve them overnight (and witness the destruction they can create when confined to one small room in order to keep them from eating), staple them into a crate, and ship them off to the vets.
Two kittens examined by the vet, a second opinion needed on Grolly's potential pregnant state, before a decision was made that she was almost certainly not, and that if she was it would be very very very early stages. So I decided to go for it, and asked them not to tell me either way afterwards. Ignorance can be bliss sometimes.
Two kittens left with the vet, two girls and myself off to meet some ROSY families for coffee and biscuits. One very truly scrumptious teeny tiny baby girl who just had to be held and gently squidged whilst her mother drank her tea. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. On from coffee to a cafe for lunch, and swap several mums for one dad. One small boy squishing fruit puree across the table, and one dad who claimed to be interested in knowing how I'd blog that.* One call from the vet to say the kittens were awake and would really quite like to be collected now, if not sooner.
Back to the bus, two kittens collected, and back home. Where the kittens promptly went loopy. Now I've never had a hysterectomy (or been castrated for that matter), but I suspect that if I had, chasing my fellow kitten up and down the curtains and over laps and under legs would not have been my top priority for the hours post-op.
A quick tidy up before our new cleaner arrived. Odd hours; she now works 3-5 on a Friday. Perhaps not the most convenient hours for us, but as long as Little Fish continues to be begging for bed at 5PM, I stand a reasonable chance of at least starting the weekend with a relatively clean house. A cleaner with a young baby; relatives care for the baby whilst she cleans but I did say we'd be happy for her to bring her along. Forced to spend a couple of hours holding a little baby whilst someone else cleans my house - pretty close to heaven I'd say! Very different to our last cleaner - forget badly detuned radio hissing out scratchy old favourites, F was scrubbing my hob this evening singing How Great is Our God. And, in a first for any of our cleaners (for some reason we've had quite a few; I can't think why), she refused to start cleaning until she'd first had a short explanation about Mog - not the "what's wrong with her?" explanation, but the "how does she communicate and what should I know?" one, something I'm always happy to explain.
It's stuck in my head now; let's see who else can catch it.
Two small girls tucked up in bed now, one cleaner gone, and two kittens windowsill surfing. Goway has gone out, partly in disgust at their antics, and partly to prove to them that he's a big boy and can go out whereas they're stuck inside. One head spinning, with friends who are ill, friends' children who are ill, friends' parents too. Children in hospital, children in hospices, children hanging on at home but only just. I'm thankful the three of us are bouncing back from our 'flu, if more slowly than I'd like.
And now I'm going to take my spinning head and let it be horizontal. Roll on Monday and
*So if you're reading, now you know!