i’m not good at making decisions
by uzwi
I still expect the cat to come running every time I open a tin. In fact he’s upstairs on my desk, in a white cardboard box five by six by seven inches, with a date & “sympathies” written on the front. “I know we’re in a weird place with this,” I tell him. “For you it’s a transitional place. I appreciate that.” Meanwhile, I say, he can entertain himself with the pigeon on the telegraph pole, the magpie on the pavement, both of real interest & easily visible from the window. Spring being on its way–to judge from the hail we had this morning–he can look forward to a lot more action of that kind. “Now you’re not out there so much, the garden’s full of birds.” I pat the box in what I hope is a reassuring manner. “I’ll find somewhere to put you eventually.”
the m john harrison blog 
Mike, sorry to hear about this. I’ve gone through it three times (with dogs). Never fun. http://theeternalgoldenbraid.blogspot.com/2011/01/for-saffron.html
F.P. Kiesche III “Ah Mr. Gibbon, another damned, fat, square book. Always, scribble, scribble, scribble, eh?” (The Duke of Gloucester, on being presented with Volume 2 of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.) Blogging at The Lensman’s Children (http://theeternalgoldenbraid.blogspot.com)
________________________________
This one reminded me of one of Hunter ST’s columns. In a good way.
Thanks, Fred. For some reason your comment ended up in the spam trap. Sorry I didn’t notice it until now.
Hi Zak. What can I say?
I hope someone puts me in a box like that one day.
But not soon…