rain, rage, cats and dogs



Posting days: Sunday and Wednesday and, sometimes, maybe, extra ‘news flashes’


Wednesday December 13th 2017


Today it’s the antithesis of Christmas card snow scenes. It’s grey from ground to sky. The roads run with thawed snow, the pavements are covered in packed ice and everything is dripping.

I have to see the practice nurse for blood tests. Not my favourite past time.

The 18 bus stop is only a few houses up from mine, and a bus is scheduled to arrive every ten minutes.

Mirthless titter.

After thirty minutes there’s still no sign of a bus.


Despite all my layers, I feel damp and cold. And, thanks to Daisy, very tired.

Last night she seemed to spend the whole night crawling in and out of my bed, squeezing herself against me before turning onto her side in order to plant all four little cold paws against my warm skin. When her paws warm up, she stretches out, bursting with happy purrs. Then, of course, after about half an hour, it becomes uncomfortably warm for a cat and she scrambles out again, leaving a draughty gap behind her.

Another thirty to forty minutes later, she feels chilly again and the performance is repeated. This goes on and on. Then at about four o’clock, she drops off the bed – astonishingly noisily for such a small animal.

I relax. But not for long. She re-enters the bedroom running and yowling. Meya! Meya! ME-AH-OW!

I recognise the call. She’s used her tray. There’s something nasty in it now. What if she needs a pee? She’s certainly not using the tray with THAT in it.

I’m usually very responsive to her orders, but not now. It’s cold and I’m tired.

Scrabble, scrabble. She’s trying to dig me out. I turn over and pull the duvet up to my ears. Eventually, she gives up and wriggles down under the duvet again. Now her paws are very cold. Plonk. They’re on my back this time.

Yes, it’s definitely Daisy’s fault. Standing at the bus stop, I decide to call the nurse as I’m going to be very late. I discover I’ve left my phone at home. By this time we have been joined by a young guy on his way to college. His app tells us that the bus will be arriving in eight minutes.

Just time to fetch my phone. “I’ll walk with you”, says the young man, offering his arm, “To make sure you don’t slip.” I pick up the phone, apologising to poor Isis who is lying sadly behind the front door, sure that I have left for a lovely walk without her.

I do slip but, thanks to the kind young man, remain on my feet. I phone the nurse and she kindly says she’ll wait for me.

A posse of 18 buses curves round the corner of the road. We gratefully get on the first.

The next bus I need is the 50, and it arrives after a few minutes. The driver clocks off and we all wait for his relief driver.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Eventually, when another bus arrives, we all decant and clamber onto the next.

I’m thirty minutes late for my appointment, but the nurse is still there.

It’s the first day in weeks that I’ve poked my head out of the door without a hat. On the way back, it pours with rain.

I’m too tired, cold and achy to take a Isis down her lane but I know she’ll need a pee, so let her out on a long lead onto the front grass. She dances joyfully, gulping mouthfuls of the steady downpour. Every now and then, I place a hand on her back. This means ‘stand still,  time to go’. Usually she obeys this sign immediately. But it’s raining isn’t it? As soon as I lift the hand, off she twirls again.

I give up and we go in. I’ll have to take her out again in an hour.


This was going to be the post which announced that, at last, Isis had eaten politely twice a day for four days; however, I am irritable and feeling bad that Isis hasn’t had a walk. She obviously feels the same and a quarter way through her meal barks and snarls loudly. Her tea is immediately removed.

For the next hour she barks single, evenly spaced sharp, cross barks. Now and then she interrupts the rhythm by raging and snapping at her tail.

When her meal is returned to her, ninety minutes later, she eats so quietly, you’d not know she was there.

Human is so ragged by now that she can’t be bothered to eat.

Then friend C. rings. He has his own small catering business and asks if I’ve eaten. He has vegetable curry, naan bread, sticky toffee pudding and toffee sauce left over from a dinner. Would I like some?

Would I?

It’s snowing again but C insists on driving over with the food.

Now, Isis and I are both well fed. She is sleeping peacefully and I plan to do the same very soon.

Anyone want a cat?


Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or  www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

This entry was posted in deaf/blind dog plays, food rage, Isis at home, Isis is no angel, training, twirling and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to rain, rage, cats and dogs

  1. Anonymous says:

    Thanks for another insight into your life. Today, reading your post, I was struck by the kindness of some humans. Your nurse waited patiently for you, no doubt at some inconvenience to her, but she did what she does; she cares for patients. Thank goodness for the NHS and I hope that no-one manages to take it away from us. What a kind man to walk along with you, to make sure you don’t trip. And your friend who brought the cooked food for you which lifted your spirits. Thankfully I am similarly blessed with friends, and one in particular. Since the snow, my friend has taken Martha to the park three times a day as I can’t manage the icy paths, starting at 7.30am and last walk at 9.30pm. This week she has also taken my laundry to her house, brought over a hot vegan meal and driven me to and from the Wassail at Highbury Hall (dog-sitting Martha while I was out). xxx


  2. Amber Lipari says:

    LOL, I have the same sort of dynamic with my cat, Lucy. She is a kneader, and absolutely refuses to stop clawing me at night, so I finally started locking her out of my room at night. At first, she would lie right at the door, meowing, and sticking her paws under the door. Now she is quiet, but is always right outside the door when I open it in the morning 🙂 That sounds like a hellish day; thank goodness for friends 🙂


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