What a Difference A Day Makes…24 Little Hours…
(Indecisions: To utilise the entire day, and watch it unfold; or to do a Jack Bauer Hour by Hour; or simply a solitary Hour?
Fiction or true-life, poetic or mundane, story or diary? …Bah-Humbug…I need lunch first!)
“Wo-ooh, woo” (in dog speech) …the usual alarm clock, from the hound in the lounge, so loud he can still waken me, simultaneously the cat senses I’ve stirred and begins her nag-wag song, incessant in her greeting, follows me into the loo…
“Oi, I don’t disturb you in your potty!”, I utter, she just glares at me with a repetitive “Meo-um”, her version of “Maaam!” (Screeching child’s mimicry)
The dog, continues demanding the house down, thinking he is Boss, a Rottweiler or some such, he is not…he is a neurotic Bichon Frise; Git more like, the times I have an accident trying to rush down to him so as the neighbours have peace, and I have a clean floor! He is almost ten, not like he is an untrained pup or anything, git!
Heaven forbid I need to stretch, exercise my way out of the bed, earlier and earlier as the days grow old, not a hope.
So as I muster all the eyesight I can from blurry woken eyes, and speedily take care of my ‘first thing’ business, it’s then to face the obstacle course – Kitty Jungle Jim, of walking through the landing, without receiving a swot of a cat’s claw or a twitchy furry tail in the mouth from the banister as I descend the stairs, descending with watchful eye as to the twirling cat desperately trying to trip me up, in protest of having not yet fed her, prior to my pee, not to mention the myriad cat toys strategically left in her wake, for my impending demise, least that’s what a cartoon would do!
Alas, into the lounge, already gaining a headache from the bellowing woof, he is an innocent dog, though a wolf in sheep’s clothing, quite literally!
Out he goes, and nag-wag waddles her tush ahead of me to the kitchen, where she has the luxury to eat on the table from her own special plate, with her even more special Renal Diet food, as the poor wag is almost Twelve and was 18-months ago diagnosed with CKI (Chronic Kidney Insufficiency).
Dog scratching at the glass back door…race to either tell him to stop scratching, or let him in…nope, he’s playing ‘Boy who cried wolf’ with me again, like this is the first time…uhhh…not!
He has this need for me to stand there like a prized pleb or Queen’s Beefeater, guarding him whilst he does his sniff rounds, wiz’s and well, you get the gist, trouble is, he can at times decide “ooo, it’s quite fun out here”, after doing the garden circling twenty times, passing by the back door, looking out of the corner of his eye, checking his Master is still stood there like a plank!
By this time, an hour has passed, I still haven’t made it back to the kettle, and the cat has already scoffed, plopped and having a wishy-wash! Yawn.
Eventually the dog gets bored, and comes in, sniffs the cheaper food I was forced to begin buying, due to austerity and the cat needing her veterinary supplies and visits…it’s not like I don’t go without first mind!
Anyhow, he proceeds to try and chat with me, the cat, every dog in dog hearing distance whilst I am still trying to get myself together to begin my day, my way.
Needless to say, on given days where I need to go to an appointment, or run errands, this can be far less humourous and rather more tedious.
By the time I am ready for my work, my day, I have already felt like I’ve ran a marathon…but god love him…probably the only one who does, *giggle*, not really!