I must admit that this development was something I didn't anticipate . . . . yes, I know, Chloe has been a therapy cat for six years, but to turn her considerable therapeutic skills on me?Ever since finding the lump in my breast, and receiving my appointment for the hospital tomorrow, Chloe has made sure that she's the dominant member of our household.
At her insistence, there's no hanging around. We're up early and out in the garden by eight-thirty every morning, where we spend at least an hour-long sojourn.Our second visit, which was previously after lunch, has been brought forward to around eleven-thirty.
To satisfy her enthusiastic demands, a third one is squeezed in at around mid-afternoon.
And, something quite new, we make a final tour, coupled with a keen search for field-mice in the ivy, at around half-past five.
Am I being afforded peace between these walks? Not on your life!
No time to feel anxious for tomorrow when a small cat is winsomely demanding a game, a meal, or a good brush.
Little room for anxiety when a toy mouse arrives at your feet for attention, chicken needs chopping, or a litter-tray is in need of being cleaned.
Even the act of writing this 'letter' is being squeezed into a brief lull in Chloe's demands . . . I may well have to drop everything in order to satisfy the next instruction!
A therapy cat in action . . . ?
Aren't I fortunate!
