Boss Radio

I'm starting to worry about this 'net privacy thing. A few personal details on Facebook and suddenly I'm getting ads on my Googlemail for girls who are definitely under half my age, live almost next door, and want a date. At least on Facebook itself they seem to have some idea of my age, there's a girl with enormous boobies from 'Dating50s' looking at me very strangely even as I type... Ooh, and there's an ad for 'PC knowledge for seniors'. Listen you condescending jerks, I've probably forgotten more about computers than you'll ever know.

I think I preferred it when they thought I was a 17 year old from Brighton (No, I have no idea where they got that from either...).

Time for my medicine.

Angry Old Git - Welshpool.

Misty died at around 9pm, internet time. About an hour later I was about ready to accept it.



Misty arrived here in a strange way, even by our standards. My sister told us of this girl who had a cat who hated her. She could tell from the way the cat looked at her, wouldn't let her pick her up, just sat there and looked at her with a look of utter dislike. Naturally we agreed to take her on.

She was certainly a bit stand-offish, but we didn't get any particular feelings of dislike, well, not towards us anyway. She wasn't too taken by our other cats though. In fact this turned out to be the reason for her slightly snooty behaviour. She wanted to be alone. Our other cats all passed away one by one, and eventually Misty was our sole companion.

At this point she became far more friendly, I even managed to persuade her that being picked up wasn't so bad after all, and I think she may even have come to enjoy it, although she was never about to admit that. She was, quite simply, a very contented cat who knew that it was her right to clamber onto any knee that was available whenever the desire took hold of her. Except when it was sunny.

She loved to lie in the sun. Sometimes she would disappear for hours, then one day we discovered that she was basically climbing up the wall of next door's house to get on to the roof and sunning herself from there. Then she'd walk along the roof onto ours and jump down onto our bicycle shed/lean-to, leaving us to wonder where she'd suddenly sprung from.

Unfortunately sun is not good for white cats, and we began to notice a reddening of her ears if she stayed out too long. One year the sunburn turned a bit crispy and we went to the local walk-in vet, who advised that we either kept her out of the sun during the mid day hours or put sun screen on her ears.

We tried with the sun screen, but firstly she hated having it put on, and secondly, she'd lick it off almost immediately. The following year the sunburn was so bad that she began scratching at it, making it bleed, and then scratching at the subsequent scar, making it worse so she scratched it even more. We went back to the vet. He said the only real solution was to cut the "bad bits" off, thereby giving the ears a fresh start. He did offer the alternative of a cone-collar and I preferred that option, so he gave me one and of course Misty nearly killed me when I tried to put it on (Although whilst it was on she was pretty stoical about it, just sulked a little). We decided to go with the surgery.

After that she was fine for a couple of years, then the reddening of the ears began again. We started locking the cat door to stop her going out in the sun, but she worked out how to unlock it. So I jammed it shut with a Calor Gas container, but she actually managed to shift that too. Sure enough, the crust came back and the scratching started again, so it's back to the vet. He offered a further trim of the ears, but I protested at this point that soon she'd have no ears left. Stupid of me really, I should have trusted his judgement, but I was thinking of Misty's vanity and he hadn't mentioned the C word at this point, so we settled for him cauterising the worst damaged ear.

The ear looked bad, but I figured it would improve over the winter, and indeed it did, but it was still a bit black and nasty looking, and the following summer it very quickly started annoying Misty and every time she pulled the scar off it got bigger. Meanwhile I'd bought some cream to sooth it, which was partially successful, in that she hating having it on, but once on it did relax her a bit.

Then one day she nearly shredded it, it looked terrible, and I suddenly realised that what she had might be skin-cancer. Naturally this made me terrified of going to the vet, but fortunately the neighbours noticed the ear as well and insisted that I take her. At this point mum suggested that we go to the big veterinary surgery in town rather than the little walk-in.

The vet there was pretty annoyed with me for leaving it this long, no amount of excuse making was going to change his opinion that the cat didn't look this bad two days ago, he said that he could tell that was a tumour from the other side of the room and the only kind thing to do now was to put her down. No chance of that. Misty certainly didn't want to die, and she was a very happy cat in no pain apart from the ear. Couldn't she have it removed?

He didn't want to perform the operation, putting a cat through that kind of trauma at her age is just wrong was his opinion. We should take advantage of the mercy that we're allowed to offer animals that humans can't get, and have her put down. However he did agree to do the op once he realised that the other option was that we'd simply walk out with her, and he even came in especially on his day off to perform the operation. She sailed through it. The vet did however make it quite plain that although he'd dug out all the tumour (He never did use the C word) he could find, the odds against it already having spread to her skull were not the kind of odds you want to bet on.

Misty was just glad to be home and continued living her life the way she always had, but three months later it became clear that there was something growing where her ear used to be, and she had a little bump on her head. We went back to the vet and he pointed out that he did say the tumour would be back, and there was now nothing to do but to put Misty down. We could decide for ourselves if it had been worth the expense for extending her life by about 13 weeks. We said yes it had been worth it and no again to the euthanasia. Misty was still a happy cat in no pain, and so began the last two months of her life.

He gave us Metacam for her and we took her back home. One day she got dizzy. I thought it was weakness, but then she tried to climb the wall again and gave an amazing leap, but wasn't able to control her direction and fell back. I carried her back in to the house and as she sat there happily purring on my lap I investigated her face. The eye on the tumour side was now working slowly and she was turning her head slightly so she could see what she was doing with her good eye. I guess the tumour was now pressing on the brain, yet she still showed no sign of pain (Probably because of the Metacam by this time).

Later it got harder to eat, yet still she insisted on trying, finding the food by trial and error since she couldn't look at it and eat it at the same time. Soon the only way she could eat was to dive into it with her face and scoop it into her mouth, which she did with a loud purr at the realisiation that she was still getting food.

We've had a lot of cats. Some decide it's time to die and give up, usually dying within a couple of days, some implore you to help them out, so you have no choice but to have them put to sleep, and some don't want to die. I think of all our cats Misty is the one that least wanted to die. The way she refused to accept her failing health and tried to get to her food or her litter tray was both sad and magnificent, and the way she continued to dive into her food almost made you think she might actually survive this thing. But of course, she didn't.

About a week ago I started taking her to sleep alongside my bed, up to this point she'd been sleeping in her favourite place on top of my old underwear, but I'd been awoken one morning by the sound of her trying to get down the steps and since then I'd decided that she needed to be where I could keep an eye on her.

This morning when I awoke she was sitting in the position, slightly hunched, that usually indicates that a cat isn't happy. I reached out to stroke her head and she fell onto her side and started purring happily. No pain purring, no panic purring, this was that relaxed pleasure purr, and she stretched her feet out and started grooming herself (I told you she was vain). Again I marvelled at her determination not to miss out on a single minute of life and after a while I took her downstairs and offered her some food. She didn't want it. That was a horrible moment. I gave her her Metacam in the hope that once that got to work maybe she would eat. Nope. Reluctantly I filled the syringe my sister had given me with the Carnivore Care that she had also given me, then I filled her bowl with one of the Nature's Menu sachets that she'd given me, and force fed her the Carnivore Care. I didn't intend it to be force feeding, but it sure felt like it. She took it, giving me a strange look, but she still couldn't dive into the bowl of food.

She spent the day on mum's lap with me occasionally trying to convince her to eat, but she just lay there, totally relaxed, occasionally trying to groom herself but being by now unable to reach her back legs. As evening drew on I asked if I could take her for a bit, just to give mum a rest, but as I put her onto my lap she suddenly burst into a panic purr and clawed at the air for a moment. I stroked her, I couldn't think of anything else to do, and slowly the purr turned back into one of pleasure and she relaxed, splaying herself across my knee with a contented sigh. I know cats can't smile, but she was lying in that position where the curvature of the mouth made it look like she was smiling.

I don't know how long it was, but I suddenly became aware that she'd done a tiny little pee. In the back of my mind I knew what that meant. It took me an hour before I could accept it.

Rest in peace, Misty. You deserve it after the fight you put up.

I awoke this morning feeling strangely tranquil. It took a moment or two to register. Daylight saving time has ended.

I always feel so much better when I get my hour back, but everyone else seems to think it's the end of the world. They talk as though someone has taken ahold of the world and moved it so that the sun rises and sets at a different time.

Nature hasn't moved one iota, all that's happened is someone's diddled with the clocks because, apparently, we're all too stupid to get up earlier without being made to. Actually I think the problem lies at the other end of the day, we're all too stupid to know when we should be going to bed. With the advent of 24hr TV, radio, shopping, working, garages, and drinking establishments we seem to have lost the ability to notice that it's getting dark and we'd be a whole lot better off in bed.

I wonder if we're evolving. It's not that many years since we went to bed and arose again with the sun, and that's obviously the way God planned it because we're designed to live in daylight, at night it's cold and dark and we have to resort to artificial means to keep warm and get around, but maybe H. G. Wells had it right, perhaps in the future some of us will be able to see in the dark and be completely dazzled by sunlight, some of us will feel the cold of night as being natural and have to take to our beds during the heat of the day. We'll develop into night watch and day watch only meet at dusk and dawn. We could all share jobs, homes, beds even!

I don't care as long as we don't have to go onto daylight saving time again next year.

Yup. I finally found a member who's elected not to receive any more mail from me. I suppose this should be shattering news but sadly my odds on here are still way better than they are in real life. At this point I was intending to go into a Rodney Dangerfield/Les Dawson routine about how bad my life is, I mean, c'mon, the cat leaves little brown packages for me on the newspaper.

While I'm still reading it.

Obviously this is not a good idea, my sister handles copyright issues as part of her job and she's warned me before about ripping off other people's jokes, which seems a little unfair to me because I don't have any of my own. I thought I did, I was once stuck in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain and I saw a Bed & Breakfast sign so I went and hammered on the door. A woman stuck her head out the window and asked me what I wanted. I said "I want to stay here" and she said "Well stay there then" and shut the window... but it turned out that Chic Murray got there first.

So, no humour then.

And no one left to rant about except Dubya, and it seems unfair to keep picking on him, besides he does it so much better himself.

How's about some pictures?

I was looking through my file archive and I'm sure I have more pics in there than I've ever posted, so let's see what they all are (And let's hope none of them are rude, except maybe about Paris Hilton...). We kick off with the pithily titled 'sh100166'. Ah, yes. I remember it well. That's water that is. When you touch it, it's wet. It's not actually the wetness that scares me about water, it's the drowning that gets to me. I swim somewhat in the fashion of a brick, but I can't hold my breath for as long. On the other hand, at least you die clean.




What else do we have here? Oh yes. It's 02260009. Come on down! Wo! More H2O. What is this strange fascination I have for photographing stuff that might not be good for my health? Quick, let's have some 01010001.

Ah ha! That looks suspiciously like the flood plain behind the little post office, and if you look, squeezed between the trees you'll see.... more water!

I can see I'm really not a very original photog. I go for wetness like a duck to water. It is, to be honest, an easy way to get a good pic. You just can't go wrong with water.

If only there wasn't so much of it, and so deep.



Moving right along... Aah... I begin to see a pattern emerging here, and I'm not just referring to the mighty torrents. This is the same water, or rather it's all the same river, that's the same flood plain, but the water level has risen a little. If I'm right the next picture will be... Oooookay.... Not quite what I was expecting to be honest. It is the same flood plain, but it's a closer up shot of a little creek where two ducks (Actually a duck and a drake - The Man in the Big Hat) Whatever. They had a nest and they were kinda touchy about me getting too close, so I used zoom. They may be small but it's still no fun having those beeky things nibbling your nuts (I had a bag of cashews in my pocket).

Onwards!


Well that was worth the wait.


Any more of that and I'm calling this blog off right now.

...

er

...

...that would be more water, that would. It's the same ol' flood plain... erm - flooded, but I expect you spotted that already.

It's got ducks in it. OK. One of them's probably a drake. Look can we sort this one out please? The human race is called mankind, which is unfair on the men because it's like it's blaming my sex for all the problems that we've caused, so to even things up the ducky race are all called ducks, so that all the problems which they've caused will be blamed on that other sex over there.

I'm running out of these pics now, we're near the bottom, I can tell, there's a dog sniffing it. I hope this is going to come to some kind of conclusion. Calling... NOOOooooooooo... It can't be! That's the last one. All that's left is... (Something wrogn with that? - The Man in the Big Hat)