These days, my wife and I sleep in separate bedrooms. With the house now to ourselves, we have the room. Also, with my dead arm, I’m told that I fidget too much. But the upshot is that there are now rwo “getting up” events in the house.
Booboo, the sickly cat, makes sure he is around for both! In fact, this morning, I got up at six o’clock and they both wanted food, Two sachets. I put the sachets down simultaneously, as even the greedy Booboo can’t eat from two bowls at once. The other cat, Lola, who fortunately doesn’t get anywhere near so stressed about food, is therefore guaranteed a place. That said, Booboo is sufficiently savvy that he will look at both bowls, and choose the bowl with the most food in it, even if it means changing bowls halfway. Poor old Lola just “fits in”.
Anyway, my wife got up an hour later, and Booboo is acting like he’s half-starved again. Three sachets. Fortunately, he’s gone to sleep now so I won’t see him until lunchtime!
On a more sombre note, I went up to the hospital yesterday and discovered that a guy I’d been chatting to for months (yes, he’d been in that long!) had died. Tony’s stroke left him with communication difficulties, but for anybody who took the time and trouble just to chat with him, he was a lovely gent. I suppose this brings home that although I try to be light-hearted, a lot of people on this ward are actually dicing pretty closely with death. Quite sad nevertheless. I never really felt that close when I was there, but I’m very aware that I developed a kind-of tunnel vision, with me very much at the centre. I don’t know whether that’s the effect of a stroke, or the effect of a month in hospital. Probably, both, certainly stroke messes with a person’s brain.