I was much surprised Sunday morning, when I got up and opened the back door, to find the ShadowCat outside it, as he was in when I went to bed. I could only assume that he had found a portal through time and space, dematerialised, or - more worryingly - jumped out of my bedroom window, a two-storey drop. (He has been known to jump out of my study window, but the porch roof is under that, so it's two one-storey drops, not so bad.) However, when Judy woke up she said that he'd been fussing so much about six o'clock this morning that she'd had to get up and let him out. Mystery solved. I must've slept right through it, which is unusual - I usually hear the cats - but then, I was very tired all day, and had to go back to bed three times. Or possibly four, I lost count.
Amazon rather alarmed me, too, as they kept sending me emails for something I didn't recognise and don't want - but it turned out to be a book I'd pre-ordered for Jillian's birthday, so that was okay after all. That was back in June, so no wonder I didn't remember. A lot's happened since then.
Lovely friend and former colleague Nairne came for a visit yesterday afternoon. I haven't seen her since June, which is a long time when you're used to seeing someone nearly every day. She seems quite well and happy, and has a temp job that may go permanent, so perhaps I can stop worrying about her now. At least a bit.
(There's irony there: Nairne used to give me a lift to work, my employers in their wisdom having moved from the centre of Oxford to the arse-end of nowhere. When she was made redundant, my concern for her was mixed heavily with my concern for myself and how in the world was I going to get to work now? Well, problem solved. Thank you, cancer! Um ... I think?)
Health-wise, Sunday was a pretty good day, apart from the aforementioned tiredness. On the other hand, I didn't really eat anything all day, other than a bowl of cereal. By dinnertime I was torn between the need to eat - not eating is not going to help me stop being tired, is it? - and the fear of what it might do to me: bloating? Diarrhoea? Acid reflux? Something new and thrilling?? In the end I threw caution to the winds and cooked some frozen fish and chips (with peas. A vegetable!), on the grounds that, whatever happened, it probably wouldn't kill me, although, on the evidence of last week's digestive issues, I might wish it would.
Later that same evening this fear proved to be entirely justified: fish and chips definitely a mistake. Woe, and also help!
