Sick cats and accidents

I have come to regard it as a plain matter of truth in recent years, that as one gets older one feels less young and less energetic. The body starts to play up from time to time, it takes a little longer to remember things that have happened, and I am a great deal more cautious when meeting new people. I like to think I'm wiser, but evidence points contrarily. I'd like to think I should have fewer accidents, though again my track record points to there being more of those, and not fewer.

Let's start my anus horriblis by recounting a recent accident, which happened on a friend's birthday drink in the town of Leicester. I fell down some stairs in the wet, and injured my bottom and brain.




There are no pictures of my bruised brain I'm afraid, but suffice to say I was diagnosed with post-concussion syndrome, and it hurt for a little over a month every bit as much as my bottom did.

The pain has now gone, and sufficiently not aware of morbidness enough my cat Edward then had a turn which required three appointments with the vet, and cost £284. He had a cat equivalent of a UTI. The vet was uncertain as to whether he would hallucinate, as humans do. As indeed HRH Phil - the nation's favourite racist - perhaps has recently.

Older and now wiser in the ways of insurance, falls and alcohol-related injuries, I thought I should take a moment to set down my recent bleakness. Though heaven knows I have five diaries I can never bring myself to read, tainted with embarrassment as I am and always have been.

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Location:Jake Rd,Beeston,United Kingdom