As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. He’s been missing a lot.
It’s the confined to quarters thing he doesn’t understand. We had the discussion about the coronavirus, and the need to stay at home and only go out when there is a reason to go out, like to get food.
Which brought up another concern that he didn’t let go of, that he didn’t think we had enough cat food or cat litter, or treats, though he didn’t define what he meant by treats.
I assumed it was real fish.
I didn’t tell him that it was a treat for us too, the cost of Barramundi and Salmon just a little expensive for pensioners.
Not that he remembered that we have been pensioners since April last year.
I swear that cat is getting more forgetful. And, yes, that was another heated debate, whether he was getting dementia.
So, now he’s been taking to his hiding places, and keeping away from me, coming out only to get a pat or two from my other half, and give me the daggers look. And eat, though some nights he turns his nose up at it.
You can tell his displeased because some of it ends up in his water bowl, and then sits by the water bowl and moans and groans till the water’s replaced.
I swear I’m going to go bonkers if we are forced to stay in the same place much longer.
His annual visit to the vet is coming up, and maybe I can get something for his grumpiness.