Doubt About It
Monday. I can see how, as an old man, you might degenerate into watching TV and eating Cheetos out of a plastic bowl you bought every month in great big bags at Costco. It's a vision that comes through quite clearly. Not so clearly as to frighten the piss out of me, you understand, but the antennae are receiving a recognizable image. Yes, I took my walk yesterday. No, it wasn't a long walk, but a reasonable walk scooting right on up the hill to my apartment followed by a run to Safeway for cat food, bread and tuna fish. I could maybe go lighter on the tuna fish. Just a thought, you understand, things rattling around in my head, the blood pressure seemingly under some control, although the timing and the dosage are still out there drunk and dancing.
Back now from breakfast, the attitude pretty good from the feel of it, maybe vacuum up some of the bits and pieces of the scratching post that Ms. Emmy attacks now and again when she's in the mood. She treats it like a tackle dummy, embracing it with her claws sunk deep and I've been pretty good about leaving the pieces scattered about for all to see.
Speaking of Ms. Emmy, she's started eating like, well, a horse. My apartment manager, who fed her while I was on the road in Bisbee, said she'd not only been eating the canned food, but had polished off a couple of bowls of the dry as well, meow! And she's continued at this pace, no longer skinny at the edge of worrisome, the thinning fur on the inside of her back legs coming back nicely, the attitude.... Well, the attitude remains Ms. Emmy, only bigger, sleeker and better fed.
So this may be the start of a good week. I will get through to Ms. C today and see how Wilson is progressing, visit him at the hospital if she gives the OK.
Later. I spent an hour with Wilson, much relieved to see how far he's come since the accident. Yes, he's in the hospital; yes, nobody looks all that great in a hospital, but he looks OK: no marks or traces of trauma, eyes clear, Wilson clearly inside. They have him on solid food finally and he's starting the usual get out of bed, walk down the hall with a nurse at either elbow, return to the bed routine for the first time now in three long weeks. I wasn't sure what to expect, what I was hearing was pretty grim, but it was definitely Wilson clear eyed in the hospital bed, no doubt about it. So good. Prognosis good. There in San Francisco.