Friday, October 5, 2018

The perfect Therapy Cat!

Hello, it's Chloe here . . . I've just come in from the garden, have you a quick moment for a chat?

My Mum's friends tell me that she's had an op, and that I must take great care of her.

Between you and me, I must admit that I've no idea what an op is, but, judging by the change in our daily activities . . . well, I, for one, am all in favour.

"We can't go to the nursing home for the time being," said my Mum, "so you'll have to be my therapy cat at home."
Now, what did she mean by that?
Does she need the sort of therapy that I'd like to have myself?  If so, that must surely mean lots and lots of time spent in the garden?

So, as therapy-cat-in-charge, this is what I'm doing.

I don't let her hang around in bed, oh no!  we're out in the garden before nine o'clock every morning.  Then, allowing her some time to put her feet up when we come in (she can look a bit exhausted), I get her out again before lunch.  Her final outing of the day takes place at around three o'clock, after which I let her relax.
And you should just see how she's thriving on this treatment . . . I'm a very good therapy cat.

She thinks that the reason she hasn't needed any pain-killers is because of the Arnica she takes.
But you and I know that it's really all thanks to me.

Not only that, as I'm sure you'd agree, it's the perfect time of the year to be in the garden.  For some reason, chestnut trees have a habit of dropping things in the autumn.
The things they drop are green and spiky and, when they hit the ground, they break open to let out a very shiny brown nut.
My Mum says it's called a conker.

Well, I must say those conkers wouldn't appeal to me for lunch, but they certainly appeal to the squirrels!  I've never known so many squirrels scampering along the branches.

And what do the squirrels do?  They chew up the conkers and leave lots of bits of chewed-up nut all over the ground.

But this isn't the end of the story.  Who comes scurrying along in search of all these bits of chewed-up conker?  You've guessed it . . . it's the field mice!

And then do you know who comes visiting the garden in search of tasty mice and squirrels?
You've got it . . . it's the foxes!

So, although she's been hit on the head once or twice by a falling conker, I can't think of anything more therapeutic for my Mum than sitting under the trees in the garden in October.

We watch the squirrels, I leap into the ivy when I hear a mouse, and we've even come face to face with a visiting fox!

Yes, there's no doubt about it, whatever they are, ops are definitely beneficial . . . particularly when they take place in the autumn!

Now, I mustn't stay here chatting . . .  my Mum needs her next visit to the garden.

Never let it be said that I'm anything other than the perfect therapy cat!

Friday, September 28, 2018

Home again!

I thought I'd be home from the hospital by five-thirty . . . I was home by three-thirty.

I thought I'd come round from the general anaesthetic feeling nauseous . . . on the contrary, I was hungry for the delicious cheese sandwiches on offer.
I thought I'd arrive home feeling shaky and only fit for rest . . . instead I took Chloe out into the sun-drenched garden and sat under the trees exuding incredulous gratitude.


And what brought about this radical change in expectations?

Could it be all your much-appreciated cards and messages, your phone calls and offers of help, your loving and supportive care?

Could it also be what I can only call the indescribable kindness, efficiency and support of everyone I encountered at The Royal Marsden?


Apart from my wonderfully reassuring and helpful consultant, there was Michele, and Niamh,  and Beverly, and Toni and Lucy . . . to give just a few of the names I can remember.                                                          

The nurses even escorted me and my invaluable friend to the lift when the time came to leave, hugging me and wishing me well . . . my recovery was all thanks to them, I insisted.

So now my body has two weeks in which to recuperate.  Two weeks before the hospital needs to see me again.
Two weeks for the wound to heal, my right arm to regain strength, and for rest to be the order of the day.

Can any of you think of a word more powerful than 'gratitude', more heartfelt than 'thank you' . . .?
If so, that's exactly how I feel at the moment!