Diary Friday 22nd April 2016

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A dull morning as my Mum decided to take my ageing cat to the vets for a monthly overpriced check-up and to have her claws clipped. I needed to go along as my mum is in poor health and she needed me to carry Smudge in her cat-cage, which Smudge hates as she knows it means going to the vets. The trip would not be so bad if my mum went close to the appointment time – 10.20 am this time, but my mum insists on going early to be in plenty of time – not 5-10 minutes early but three quarters of an hour early to be there ‘in plenty of time’. We ended up sitting in the waiting room for an eternity. Smudge was fine though 19 years old. I was amused to notice a chart at the vets showing cat and dog ages in comparison to human ages – I’m apparently only ten years old in cat. (I’m 54). Once Smudge was safely and gratefully home and free of her dreaded cage for a month, I went out taking photos until the daylight and warm temperature faded. Apparently Smudge cried after me in my absence though she barely acknowledged my presence on my return. Arthur Chappell