I have taken a couple of days off: the plan was to sleep, sleep and sleep but the urgent plans made yesterday have changed that. So, C and I struggle out of bed before seven, me to prepare breakfast, him to look after k and get her to the bus stop. It is cold and dark, we are like surly early shift workers, dressing in silence, interspersed by yawning. But before any of that, the three cats must be fed. And even that isn’t simple. Because Fuchsia is a compulsive over eater. So much so that her weight is of concern to the vet. So, we have to lock Willow and Harry in the utility room to eat without their food being stolen, while Fuchsia eats alone.
Poor Fuchsia, she has the saddest cat face and after completing her special small portion, she turns to me and taps the side of my leg, as she cannot meow. She taps again, gently, but hopefully. I practice my new hard hearted approach and turn away to make porridge and toast hot cross buns.