Got home, made a quick supper of mock shepherd's pie, blogged a bit, edited a chapter in the Who story, and then sat out on the balcony for a bit of fresh air--Charlie was with me.
Charlie just adores the balcony, purrs the minute you put him out there. He's an observer cat, loves anything new and interesting. He loves to lie there and take in the scenery--the people, birds, cars, etc. And, I don't have to worry about him getting away and crawling out onto the ledge, as he's so fat and lazy, it's genuinely and effort for him just to roll over on his back or play with a string. Basically, wherever you put Bonnie Prince Charlie, that's where he'll stay. He's so mellow, it's almost like he's stoned have the time.
Charlie has lovely eyes--unlike most cats, who've gold eyes, Bonnie Prince Charlie has eyes that are almost gray-ish. There's a bit of the normal gold, but it's so pale, as to be hardly noticable--it's almost as if he still has kitten eyes. (Kittens are born with blue eyes, which later turn gold as they grow older.) And when he's out there, he opens those eyes so wide, just looking around, wanting to see everything--and, sometimes, he wants me just to hold him, and cuddle and talk to him--he really is just a big baby. And I mean BIG. He weighs a ton, and barely fits in my lap, anymore. The other two cats are their proper weights--but Charlie just got fat two years ago, and nothing seems to work as for reducing his weight.
He's just...fat, naturally, it seems, like me, I suppose. It's mostly genetic, with me, judging by the pics of my two grandmothers, and my mum was overweight from the mid-60's, right up until the late 90's. I was always big...which is odd, as I was actually premature at birth, and very tiny. So, I feel sorry for Charlie, but there's nothing much I can do about it. There's simply no way to isolate him from the food dish, so all I can do is make sure he doesn't overeat while I'm around. Funny, he was fit as a younger cat--used to make these great leaps in the air, chasing his toys about. Now, it's an effort for him just to roll around on the carpet--he sometimes has to make a few tries. He's very...stationary, my Charlie.
So, here I sit, going on 2 in the morning, have to go back to bed. Had a good long nap, which I really needed. I got loads of rest in hospital, after the emergency surgery--I don't know what was in the pre-op IV, but gee, it was rather nice. Never felt so relaxed in ages, ha-ha.
If I'd been rich, or had sick pay, I would have taken an extra few days off--oh God, would I have loved that! I'm so weak and tired still--I sometimes get the tremors, I'm that knackered. I'm taking my iron and vitamins that the doctor prescribed, but still, I'm just worn down to a nubbin. Going back to a 7 day work schedule so close to my recovery, hasn't been good for me, but I simply have no choice--no work, no pay, no pay--homeless. Period. End of story.
I was sick today, at work--stomach trouble. I've not got a bug, I was just weak and tired, and my stomach is telling me to rest and I just can't...I have to keep going, no matter what. I have to. Even if I drop dead, I have to try. I was ready to lay down and quit, a few weeks ago--still would love to, to be perfectly honest. This will distress some of you, I'm sure, but the reality is, when the doc told me, that I could have died, had I waited even one more day for medical help, part of me--only very deep inside me--went, "Damn, wish I'd known." Would have solved a lot of problems and ended a lot of pain and fear and grief for me. It's hard, admitting that publicly, but I think it's best I air it out, and acknowledge it. But, I'm stubborn and hate--really hate--giving up.
My late dad, he got angry with me a lot, for not getting things right away, like learning multiplication, or when I first tried riding a bike, or learning to drive three-speed standard, --he often caused me to stop trying, because I hated him being angry with me, for making me feel stupid and useless--when I stopped, out of shame and/or frustration, he used to call me a quitter. I really detest being called a quitter. Really do. So, I just grit my teeth and keep slugging away--but after all this time of bad things happening, piled one on top of the other, of bing alone, of losing so much...and of the constant struggle just to keep a roof over my head and food in the cupboards, and keep my cats and my few personal possessions--I'm damned tired, sometimes, of life. But still, I've my internet friends, and Dr Who and my cats--so I have something still, to hold on to. But yeah, it was a temptation, last week, to just walk away and let whatever happen...happen. Let nature take her course with me. But...didn't. Still here, and I guess, maybe that's something, at least. Don't have a clue what, but...?
Pompadour
Forget your late Dad. Honestly, Philip Larkin was right.
Charlie is an angel. In my old house, Bubbs would terrify me by walking along the balcony rail. It was on the first floor. He would also climb up to it somehow and demand to be let in that way.
I'm sure all life has up and down periods. Your in a down one; it can only improve.