28th September 2012 Friday
My day doesn’t start well. Even before I’m dressed the pussy cat starts peeing on my old brown suede boots in a corner of the ironing room. When I realise what he’s doing I snatch him up and rush him to the bathroom but he pees on the white rugs and the carpet on the landing, and me, all the way there.
It’s not the carpets really that bother me but why he did it - he’s peed on the bed before - it’s always a sign of distress. But I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me. Or if he’ll do it again - if I don’t get the message - whatever it is. Maybe he senses that we are going away next Friday for two weeks. I’m anxious about leaving him for so long when he’s so not well - maybe that’s it...I could trust that whatever happens will be for the best.
We drive over to the tile shop again - the tiles I chose before were’t the right colour - didn’t go with the stained glass in the bathroom which is a beautiful design of deep sage green, amber, gold and a spot of pink. We come back with more samples. One of them is perfect.
While I scrub the veggies we pulled at the allotment this morning - long pink radishes, stubby hairy carrots, heavy oblong beetroots, yellow patti-pan squashes - and cook up a compote of blackberry and apple for tomorrow’s extended family party - my husband visits his aunty for tea.
He comes home with a bag of clinking wine bottles and tins of tuna for the pussy cat.
I had to go to Shakespeare for it, he says.
Do you mean Sainsbury’s?
Yes. Where’s Shakespeare then?
I tell him and we laugh. But he won’t remember for long...
I hope the pussy cat has forgotten where he peed this morning. I’m keeping that door closed just in case.
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