maladies among the management.

   The last few weeks are certainly among those I don't want to repeat.
   It started with Bracken being ill.   Then it was Charlie.   It was real panic time - we thought we were going to lose him.   We spent just under a thousand pounds on treatment for the two of them, and Charlie wasn't recovering.   Then one evening we rushed him into our vet's., who no longer do their own after hours treatment;  instead, it's one of those huge companies that charges £165 for a consultation.  The vet. said it would cost a further £800 to give him life-saving treatment, which had to be paid there and then or she wouldn't do anything for him.
   Fortunately, my daughter gave me her vet's. 'phone number, and instructions to tell him exactly what the situation was.   We drove 30 miles to meet the vet. at 9.30, and he took over Charlie's treatment straight away.   He ended up having to have an operation, and then some further inpatient treatment, but now at last he's back to his old noisy, boisterous, suffocatingly affectionate self.   THEN Bracken got ill again;  now, at last, he's mostly recovered.   I wouldn't wish that degree of stress on anyone.   It makes the prospect of redundancy (we'll know on Wednesday - or, knowing the firm we work for, maybe not-) pale into insignificance by comparison.

...  A long gap, because the problem with the cats went on and on.   Even with a good vet, it's cost us several thousand pounds over the last few months, with Charlie hospitalised several times, and Bracks with an ongoing problem, but hopefully one which will diminish over time.   They're now totally off medicated diets, which certainly did them more harm than good, and on fresh meat - with at least one meal a day raw.
   Our firm (which my son and his girlfriend work for as well as me ) is closing down our local department and transferring the business to Ashford, in Kent.   That means our last day of work for them will be June 30th.  To our great surprising, they're no trying to do anything sneakily illegal to avoid paying us our redundancy money.   I'm quite sure it's going to be a blessing for most people, as a lot have found better jobs already.   It's a lot of stress in the short term, though, especially for those with families.   I'm at an advantage, because I'd already been planning for my retirement, and going through my pretty vintage things like a miser with his crock of gold.   My son has been working hard at his programming (he's a web designer and software producer,) so by the time we finish we'll be well nigh independent.   His young lady is looking at things to study, with a view to learning doggy massage - she has her own little pampered pooch to practice on.
   In the meantime, my elder daughter, who lives in France, has made a couple of trips over, bringing me some of my books which I'd left there, and more household things, including useful kitchen ware and pretty things.   My cottage in Orne is up for sale, and someone's going to look at it in June who's seen it from the outside and sounds really keen, so keep your fingers crossed for me!
   Besides all the heartache over the cats, I'm thoroughly stupid where the digital world is concerned, despite having worked with a computer and modems for the last four years.   I couldn't do something as simple as opening this page and continuing on my own, and had to wait until my son and I had a moment free and at home together to ask him what to do.   He gave me that look that says, 'Oh, poor old thing,' but he didn't say a single judgemental word.   When he was fifteen or so and I was just beginning to learn to turn the computer on, he used to say,  "Don't worry, Mum, it won't blow up,"  which really didn't inspire me with confidence.   He's matured almost past the patronising stage now.
   This also explains why I'm not adding any pictures to this - I just don't know how.   Anyway, so much time has elapsed that I've got lots more to say (hoping somebody's interested!) so I'll write another one shortly with better news on it - I've been a busy bee in many flowers, despite the problems we've had to deal with.
   If anyone is reading this, thank you for your attention, and hopefully next time I'll have some pretty stuff to make your kind patience worthwhile.   TTFN.

The Antique Cat...

   I had always been interested in old things.   Old cabinets, old jewellery, old men... But we'll say no more about that;  this is a respectable blog.   Having returned to England after several years' living in France, I thought I'd better go through the boxes of things sitting all around the house and set aside those that would have to go to a car boot sale to give us space to put our feet on the floor.   Every room was a mess of boxes, and in the small spaces between  them the carpet was littered with shavings of cardboard the cats had used as decoration.   So I went through three of the boxes (which took all day;  can I really bear to part with this, or will I be regretting it for the rest of the year?)
   By the end of the day the feeling was creeping over me that it was all a big mistake.   I knew some of these things were already classed as collectors' items;  so I sat myself down at the computer, and began looking them up.
   Gulp!   Had I really been about to take that art deco mirror to a boot sale?   Well, thanks to my friend the internet, I had been saved from one error of judgement;  and another;  and another...

   When I took my things over to France in the first place, there had been some (mentioning no names) who had made scathing comments about the lovely old things I had taken with me.   Now I found that some of my 'old tat' was actually quite valuable antique furniture.   I felt annoyed with myself at not having spent my spare time earlier in learning about the things I loved.  Still... it's never to late to learn;  and now I'm working hard at building up my expertise.  Of course, I've had a great deal of help from other members of the family;  in particular, from Charlie...

   Bracken...
                                                                            and Olly.


   You can trust a cat with antiques.   I learned that many years ago, watching a beautiful tabby tiptoeing through the glassware in the window of an antique shop in Calais.  (At this point I feel a legal disclaimer ought to be inserted;  but what the hell, kiddy, what the hell?   - Has anybody read the wonderful   'archy and mehitabel', a journal written by a cockroach on a typewriter in a newspaper office, so of course no capitals and little punctuation, as he can't hold the carriage shift and jump on a letter at the same time?   His friend mehitabel, the cat, claims she was cleopatra in a previous life.   I love her catchphrases.  'Always a lady', and  'Toujours gai, kiddy', bring the era to life as only a cat can.   The book was written by Don Marquis, an American novelist, in 1916.)
   So, with 'the team' to back me up, I went into business...
   ...And here are some of my favourites among my hidden treasures.

    The black cat is my favourite of all, and there's no way he'll ever go to any kind of a sale, car boot or otherwise.  He was my father's when Dad was a boy, so that makes him at least about one hundred years old.   On my next trip out, he's due for a new ribbon.   Probably pink.   Although my son complains that I'll give the cats a complex by calling them pretty boys.   What the hell, kiddy, what the hell?

   Okay, I can't deny that some things are fit only for a car boot sale.   Perhaps I can persuade those family members with time on their hands to help me out with one, then I can buy as well as sell.   Buy?   Get thee behind me, Satan...
   It's funny, I've never thought of myself as a girly girl (or girly old woman, if it comes to that,) but the sight of pretty things, especially pretty things with flowers on, or cats, or garden views, makes my fingers start to itch and twitch.   Maybe I have an addictive personality.   Or maybe pretty things are just meant to be bought and loved.
   At least at my age I can say some of my antiques grew up with me.   Though if anyone else had said that I mightn't have been pleased.
   And back I go, to my lovely delicate china, my slightly smudged crinoline lady mirror, and my 1980s hand knitted matinee jackets, for another bout of sorting and packing and fondling to clear a space on that floor I'd forgotten I had.   More to follow, as soon as I have room to move...