This is indicative of my state of mind in the early mornings at the moment. I put out food for the cats, and Mow went running to his bowl. As usual. However, Saf did not barrel through, casting him asunder in the rush to get to his own bowl of cat bits. No Saf did not emerge from the study, and I had a feeling of instant foreboding. L’s cat, Escher, who lived for about a million years, hung on to this mortal coil until just after Chloe was born, and then retired from life. Saffy has started looking a bit older and skankier over the past year…so when I found him under the desk, unable to use his front paw? I immediately assumed that the end was nigh. The dice were thrown. The gig was up. It was time for the fur to hit the road. [sob]

I thought he must have had some kind of stroke or been struck by instant virulent arthritis. Before calling the vet, I elevated his bowls so he could get to them, as he couldn’t use his leg properly. Thus…

I thought it was the end.

It was only about five minutes later, after surfing a wave of dread and panic, that I discovered his leg was trapped in his collar. D’oh. Disaster dissolved. Case closed. I am a panic merchant. Must endeavour to be more ZEN.


Hello Dawn!




  1. Karen

    Ah, your cat just brought back memories. His colouration is exactly the same as one of my cats that went missing about 5 years ago, even the number of little stripes running down the forehead.

    I’ll just pretend that he hopped the boat to Australia and is doing well.


  2. b:p

    It’s actually true. We were wondering where he got his accent from, but he preferred to maintain some mystique and would never tell us…

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