Right, time for THE update. Hospital report on Dad. Palliative Care has been set. They feel he will deteriorate within 6 weeks. We've been told there are a lot of tumours in the brain and that the change will be swift. SO IN LIGHT OF THAT, I thought I would share with you the Cat Lady story for some much needed light relief. (Apologies for the swearing)
Right. So most people have heard about Dad through the grapevine that weaves its way around my work place. A lot of people have spun platitudes. Some have simply been honest and said, ‘I don’t know what to say’. These people I like muchly. The ones I really love are the ones who say.’ Jesus Kate, that’s a big bag of w*nk right there.’ I don’t need you to make it better. I need you to agree its sh8t. And Crap and that there is an evil presence in the world that has aligned its forces against me and we must take up arms against it with an Army of Ninja Penguins and assorted snacks/chocolate/cider/beer and GUNS. Many many guns.
However SOME people tend to veer sharply to the Looney side. There is a lady in filing; we will call her Doris for this. She is a very lovely, but a very weird, older lady. She’s one of those that always has a tissue about her, and smells vaguely of TCP and mint. However, she may look meek and a bit wet, but F9CK ME, don’t piss her off. She’s misleading that one……..Anyway, I'm over there one day and the conversation goes a bit like this.
‘I’m so sorry to hear about your Dad dear.’
‘Thank you Doris. I know it’s all a terrible business* isn't it.’
*By the way. It's all frightfully middle class in filing. The women all have twin-sets from Marks & Sparks and there is a cheese plant in the corner of the room
‘Yes it is. Oh dear, I know just how you feel.
*Fumbles for a tissue, this one in her waistband*
'It was terrible when my Charlie was diagnosed.’
By now I'm thinking, oh god, I’ve upset someone else again
‘Oh Doris! I'm so sorry. How old was Charlie?’
With the amount of tissue fidgeting that’s going on I'm thinking, Son, Daughter, Husband
’He was 17 years old.’
Oh Bly! This is sounding awfully more tragic by the second here. I mean, My Dad is 72. I don’t want him to die you know, but he IS 72 and smoked all his life. I mean, 17 is no age at all
‘Oh Doris, I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean for this to upset you.’
‘Oh don’t be silly dear. It's quite OK. I helps to talk about these things sometimes. And besides, 17 Years is quite old for a cat.’
Watery Smile
If you were watching my face, you could actually see the muscles all freeze at the same time, and witness the widening of my eyes as my brain slams into a wall. The only stream of consciousness that raced through me at that moment was this…..
You. Are. Sh8tting. Me. Right?????
You’re talking about a Cat? A f9cking CAT? A CAT?! SERIOUSLY?? You’re comparing my dad to your decrepit, ailing, feline? *facepalm* Oh there are not enough filters IN THE WORLD for me to be able to say ANYTHING remotely appropriate. By this point I am savagely chewing through the inside of my cheek, and I am very aware that a tick has started jumping in my left eye.
It gets worse as she then dabs at her eyes with a tissue she has produced, this time from her bra strap (honestly, she’s like a walking tissue box) and is telling me how awful it was when they had him put down, how it broke her heart and she’s never been the same since. (*raises eyebrow* - Clearly, I'm thinking) By this point I’ve subconsciously started backing out of the office and I manage to escape from watery eyed, tissue concealing, mad as a badger’s foot Doris by thanking her for her kind words and by a whisper I narrowly avoiding blurting out, ‘Well…. *rubs hands* I ought to get back, the sausages are missing me.’
You can try to justify this one all you want with the, ‘She was only trying to reach out and connect with you.’
The only thing that woman has ‘connected’ with recently, is a shovel upside the head.
*sighs*
I was talking to the GF last night, and it appears that I am not the only one that seems to stumble from one laughable almost unbelievable situation to another. These people seem to follow her around as well. She also gets those days that leave you looking in the mirror at yourself and saying, ’You know, I couldn't make this sh8t up.’ In fact some days I have head-butted myself in the mirror whilst moaning the word, ‘Why?’ over and over again.
As bat-sh8t mental as my life can get? I wouldn't swap it. It is what it is. And mental, cat loving, bunny boilers aside, I think it's pretty damn magic.
xoxoxo
