Warning: Do not read if you have a weak stomach. Especially the 3rd section.

My cat, Dorrie, has not been well lately.
On 21 May, she came inside in the evening and couldn’t open her right eye properly. I couldn’t see any visible wound, but when it started weeping pus, I had to take her to the emergency vet. Thank heaven for pet insurance, or I would have had to pay £120 (comprised mainly of an extortionate £97 ‘base’ fee). The insurance meant I only had to pay the excess of £50. The vet found a small spot wound on her pupil, and assumed that Dorrie had poked her eye on something, perhaps a twig. She gave her an antibiotic shot, and some eye drops for me to apply twice a day for the next couple of days. The following day I took Dorrie down to her usual vet for a post-emergency check. It was healing perfectly, and the vet threw a worming tablet down her throat at the same time. Another £23.

Four days ago, she came inside with a pronounced limp. She wasn’t putting any weight on her back left leg. It being the bank holiday weekend, I couldn’t take her to the normal vet as it was closed, and didn’t want to fork out another extortionate amount for the emergency vet. Instead, I consulted the internet, and following advice on there I checked for visible wounds, thorns, or swellings. Dorrie hissed and yowled like a banshee. I blocked off the cat flap, and Dorrie meowed and meowed and meowed incessantly for hours. I made sure she rested up and didn’t run around, and the limp slowly got better.

On Monday evening, she was haring noisily up and down the stairs at 11.45pm. I figured it would be perfectly okay to let her out yesterday. I came downstairs yesterday morning to unblock the cat flap, and noticed that it was really quite stinky in the kitchen. She hasn’t used the litter tray since I’ve started allowing her outside, but being confined indoors meant she had to use it again. I didn’t have any fresh cat litter, so a sprayed a liberal amount of air freshener in the kitchen, and went to work. Back home yesterday evening to a still alarmingly stinky kitchen, armed with fresh litter, bleach, and a new mop, I rolled up my sleeves and popped the catches to lift off the roof of the litter tray. I have never seen anything like it. The litter tray was partly litter, but mostly explosive diarrhoea. And it stank like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I suppressed the gag reflex, and slid the whole litter liner, litter and slimy godforsakenness into a black bag before putting it outside the door on the patio. I shut Dorrie in the living room (more incessant meowing), bleached out the litter tray, and put it outside to dry. Then I swept out and bleach mopped the kitchen floor, including what I’d thought were two muddy paw prints (shudder), sprayed more air freshener around, opened the kitchen door and windows, then brought the litter tray back in and refilled it. I washed my hands, remembered the black bag from hell, and tied that up, double bagged it, and binned it. Then I washed my hands again. I made sure the kitchen floor was dry, then went into the living room to carry Dorrie onto the patio and left her there. Then I showered, but stopped just short of burning my clothes.

I figure that when she wasn’t allowed outside, Dorrie held it and held it and held it, but finally succumbed and… well, see above. I only thank heaven that she remembered how to use the litter tray. I never want to see anything like that again.

I spoke to my sister last night. I told her the story, and when I’d finished she said, “I’ve just finished eating my dinner.”
“You ate through that story?” I asked, aghast.
“I’m a nurse, remember?” she said. “I could tell you much worse stories than that.”

Back at the start of April, just before I went on holiday, an email came round the division advertising a one year secondment position in a different department. It was a grade higher than my current post, and sounded like just the sort of thing I could do. I pulled together a hasty application letter, and sent it off the day I left for London.

Back home on the 14th, there was a letter waiting for me, inviting me to interview on Tuesday 17th. Two hours after the interview, I got a call offering me the job. I did write a long post about the difficulties in getting approval to go on the secondment, but in hindsight I’ve removed all that. Suffice to say, by the 24th I finally received confirmation that I would be released to go.

My new job starts on 2 July, and runs for a year. It’s very different to what I’m doing now, and I’m really looking forward to it.

Actually, I’ve been back for three weeks now - I’ve just been horrendously lazy in updating, both in terms of my photoblog, and the blog itself. Shameful, I know. No excuse.

Anyway, I had a great holiday, including a trip to Atlanta Zoo, meeting new friends Cat, Lily and Michael, getting sucked into the evil World of Warcraft (the blame rests solely on Sam and Jeremy - if it didn’t, I’d have to blame myself, and that’s not on!), seeing Scott again and getting to know the lovely Jenn, the obligatory RPing (Cyberpunk, for the curious), walks in the wood on a bee-yoo-tiful sunny day, and discovering that you can suck the nectar out of honeysuckles. Good times.