House of plague

The last few days have been... trying. After I last wrote on Wednesday night (when I said I was "flushed" and "lethargic" and that the cat was "being odd"), two things happened: (1) I got ill; (2) the cat got ill.

This led to a really fun episode on Friday when I had to take the cat to the vet to find out if she was dying, and I kept having to sit and put my head between my knees in the vet's office because I still had a temperature and thought I was going to faint. I also really embarrassingly burst into tears on the phone to my parents' neighbour, who felt so sorry for me (or worried for my mental stability) that she came round with Lucozade and home-made soup. And I may have had a brief sob down the phone to my cousin's wife too, who I called for veterinary advice, and have actually only met two or three times. All in all, not a good day for my dignity.

They were both incredibly sweet to me though. It reminded me how great women are. If I'd done that on the phone to a bloke, chances are I would have got an awkward silence and a bit of coughing.

Anyway, the vet said the cat needs blood tests to look for diabetes or problems in her liver or kidneys, but the lab is closed until Monday, so I was sent home to nurse her for two days. She's perked up a bit actually, poor old thing, and is eating a bit again. My cousin's wife the vet said that's encouraging, but then she gently added that I should prepare myself just in case I have to make "a difficult decision" when the blood test results come back. I am preparing myself for this by trying not to think about what it means.

Meanwhile I just saw this advert on TV, which made me homesick for Newcastle. This is where I'm from, and I haven't been there for six months. It's a lovely part of the world. Admittedly it doesn't look quite as lovely as this from every single angle on every single day (closing time in the Bigg Market, for example), but still, it's a wonderful place. You probably should visit. I'll come.