Off to the vet

 

Off to the vet

Arthur cuddles his mistress

Jellicoe, our delicate diabetic cat, likes to keep us on our toes. Normally ravenous, any change in his approach to food is a hint that something is amiss. Last week he began to show signs of a diminishing interest in his elevenses. There were no other indications. Breakfast had been consumed with sufficient enthusiasm, but we have learnt not to ignore subtle changes. Cats can become ill very quickly - Jellicoe has proved that more than once

A visit to Selene-the-vet showed that he had an infection, so an antibiotic injection was administered, his ears were thoroughly cleaned, and his claws were clipped. The claws were nothing to do with his health, but more concerned with his method of attracting notice to his need for breakfast. After a twelve-hour fast, he is more than ready for a meal. He draws attention to his hunger with sharp-needled taps and gentle nips on any adjacent adult.

Having settled his requirements, we thought his brother Herschel really ought to have his teeth checked. He hasn’t shown any signs of discomfort, and his breath is as acceptable as any healthy cat’s, but he is thirteen now, so an appointment was made for Monday.

 He accepted his temporary imprisonment in the cat carrier nonchalantly, sniffing carefully because Jellicoe had recently been transported in it. The result was that he needs a couple of extractions. The vets will pre-authorise it with the insurance company and then Herschel will spend a day with them in the near future. It’s always worrying when pets have to have surgical interventions, particularly as they grow older. However, it’s better to do it before problems arise.

Roxy relaxes elegantly with Herschel

In the afternoon, Roxy had her annual medical. She’s nearly eleven years old, but behaves as though she’s eleven months old. She had a clean bill of health, and is just the right weight, though she’d love the opportunity to overeat and pile on the pounds.

We could have sung ‘In and out the dusty bluebells’ as first one animal was seen and then another and in between whiles, there was a refreshing walk in the rain.

 

Not a competition

 

Not a competition

We had our first Christmas card on November 29^th, a record for the sender. His is usually the first to arrive, but it has always at least been December before his card drops through the letter box. He is now a widower, in his second Christmas as such, but always wrote the cards every year, much as my brother-in-law did.

I haven’t even written our cards, though I have bought the Christmas stamps. I suppose there are several approaches to card posting. Some send early, to ensure they have completed the task, and maybe to try and guarantee a card in return. Some send as and when they think about it, perhaps adding recipients as they go. Some wait to see who will send them cards and respond accordingly. Some choose never to send cards.

Increasingly, with the cost of postage rising, some opt to publish a general Christmas greeting on social media. They usually claim to be spending the cost of cards and postage on charity donations instead, which is entirely commendable.

I love receiving cards, and know from the envelopes who has sent them. Handwriting is so distinctive, but even with those bearing efficiently printed address labels, it’s possible to discern from post marks where they’ve come from.

However, it is with some trepidation that we open the cards. Some enclose those oft-mocked ‘round robins.’ It’s true that they can be missives of self-congratulation on personal achievements or offsprings’ accomplishments, but mostly they’re amusing, chatty summaries of life. They do relieve the task of writing the same things over and over again to different people.

Other cards bring news of death or disability, which cause a pause for reflection and memory.

 Our list has dwindled a little across the years.

 It’s inevitable. It’s sad. It’s life.

But life goes on (never start a sentence with ‘but!’) and I will have to set aside some time soon to write Christmas greetings. December gathers speed hour by hour and I already have a sense of time running out when there’s still so much to do and learn.

Running to catch up, as usual.

                                      

A visitor

 

A visitor

Arthur is visiting us for a few days while his mistress is otherwise occupied. She cannot leave him alone overnight. Roxy and Gilbert were delighted to see their little friend again. Herschel and Jellicoe attained the heights and looked down until they remembered that Arthur is no threat to them whatsoever, and anyway, they’re cats, and lords of the manor.

On going into the bathroom, Susannah was startled to find syringes laid out neatly on the counter top. This was not a sight with which she was familiar in her family home.

However, she quickly realised that they are ink jet syringes, used for refilling printer cartridges. What a relief!

Contrast

 

Contrast

Two flyers arrived today, tucked inside a free magazine. The first was for Centrepoint, a charity providing shelter, highlighting the real struggles some young people face this Christmas. Actually, all homeless people of whatever age, experience difficulties all year round, but the ‘Festive Season’ is used, sometimes cynically, as a prod to the consciences of those whose lives are more ordered and comfortable.

Nonetheless, at a time of year when togetherness is promoted and perfection is touted as the ambition of all right-thinking folk (you’ve seen the advertisements, yes?) we are pricked into considering how we might help, in whatever small way we can. There are many calls for help for people in desperate plights in the affluent Western world. Their desperation may not measure up to that of others in less prosperous countries, but it’s not a competition. Suffering is suffering, no matter where or how or why. Suggested donations range from £12 to £100, although if people wish to give more, they may do so.

The second flyer was advertising luxury yacht cruises. ‘Save up to 25%,’ it said. ‘Flights included.’

If consumers wish to avail themselves of this generous offer, they can book a cruise for anything from £3,429 to £5,045 per person, depending on route, and location within the vessel. If a longer cruise is desired, the price rises accordingly.

Compare and contrast. It is a strange world!

 

 

Facebook memories

 

Facebook memories

The picture that popped up today was of Frankie when he was little. Frankie is my seventh grandchild, and he will be thirteen on December 1^st. My, how time flies!

He and his mother lived with us for five and a half years. It was just intended to be for a couple of months, while his mother sorted herself out, but she needed that time to rebuild her confidence. We were happy to have them, and it was a joy to watch the little boy grow up and develop.

Like many small boys, he was obsessed with cars. In this photograph he was sitting in his high chair, about to have his tea.

I couldn’t resist captioning the photograph with ‘Jam for tea??’

I advise all parents and grandparents to cherish such moments because the future is uncertain. It’s good to have sweet memories. Photographs are excellent for capturing them.

To brighten the day

 

To brighten the day

Off to the dentist again today. I seem to have spent a good deal of time there this year, The porcelain crown was fitted a few weeks ago– almost hammered into place, I felt – but today’s appointments were for the dentist and the hygienist.

I leave the dentist feeling somewhat chastened – my mouth is not as sparkling as it should be, would be if I paid more attention to the tooth-scrubbing ritual. Vishal is far too polite to say that, of course, but the criticism is implicit as he tells his dental nurse what to type into my record.

On the other hand, Emily, the hygienist, is positively complimentary as she sets to. She’s young and patient and charming, which is just as well as I now have to see her every four months instead of six, to increase the dental servicing.

It was bitterly cold this morning, a heavy frost battling with extremely bright sunshine in an azure sky. Outside the dental practice is a magnificent display of geraniums (actually pelargoniums) which must be very sheltered as they are still flaunting a dazzling spectacle.

The photographs, taken hastily with my iPhone, do not do them justice. They provide a wonderful welcome and a tender farewell to all who visit.

 

Bring back the bell!

 

Bring back the bell!

 Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Today I read about a horrifying event in Thailand this year. A bedridden lady of sixty-five was presumed dead and placed in a coffin and driven three hundred miles from her home to a Buddhist temple for cremation. As the priest and the relatives were talking before the ceremony, they heard a knocking from the coffin. On opening it, they discovered that the lady, though weak, was still alive. She was taken to hospital for treatment.

Although unusual, such an event is not without precedent. Indeed, one of the commenters on this article disclosed that his great-great-grandmother had sat up in her coffin partway through her funeral service. The custom at the time was to leave the coffin open until the conclusion of the service. The lady, obviously made of stern stuff, stored the coffin under her bed, and lived for a further fifteen years.

In 1999, a teacher, aged thirty-two, collapsed while swimming in Egypt. Having been certified dead, his body was being stored in a hospital refrigerator, when he woke up. Too cold to speak, he grabbed the hand of one of the mortuary staff who was trying to shut the door. Naturally, they were extremely shocked, as were his family members when he ‘phoned them to tell them the good news.

Another reported case was that of an eighty-year-old woman in Los Angeles, in 2010. She had a heart attack and was declared dead. She was put into cold storage in the hospital morgue, but regained consciousness and attempted to escape. The escape was unsuccessful. One can only imagine the fear and panic of her situation.

In 2012, in China, a lady aged ninety-five was found not moving and thought to be dead. In keeping with tradition, her body was laid in a coffin in her home. Six days later, just before her funeral, the coffin was found empty, its occupant sitting in her kitchen, preparing food.

In 2023, in New York, a nursing home declared one of its residents dead and removed the body to a funeral home (why are they called ‘homes’?) The funeral staff discovered that she was very much alive when they began to remove her from the body bag and found that she was still breathing.

It would appear that it is time to reinstate the ancient custom of the wake. ‘Wake’ comes from Old English ‘waec’ which means watch or vigil. If the coffin is to be kept in the house, family and friends can visit at any time, to pay their respects to the dead person, and to commiserate with the living and exchange memories and anecdotes. It also means that any sign of life will be noticed.

 Another form is the public viewing, when mourners can go to the funeral director’s premises to see the body in the coffin. This is a source of great comfort to many people.

 In the 19^th century, when it was difficult to be confident that life was extinct, coffins were sometimes supplied with a bell and cord. The cord might be attached to any part of the body. Should the unthinkable occur, the cord would be pulled, the bell would tinkle, and the body would receive appropriate attention, hopefully before interment.

It is rare, indeed, that people are mistakenly declared dead, but it has happened.

George Washington had taphophobia, a dread of being buried alive. He told his secretary, Tobias Lear, ‘Have me decently buried; and do not let my body be put into the Vault in less than three days after I am dead.’ His coffin also had a number of holes bored in it, so that he should be able to breathe if he were to come back to life.

He also requested that his funeral be a simple, private affair, without pomp or ceremony, but that wish was not honoured. The nation mourned.