The Welsh come out with me on Thursdays. They sleep in the car when I see clients and we have a walk inbetween.
On the way home they are treated to a single cheeseburger each, which they both eat with closed happy eyes.
Weaver emailed me. She’s poorly but very pragmatic and has the most informed family doctor who has prempted all the advice I have started to give during our correspondence which is reassuring to say the least.
In hospice terms our dear Weaver is on the landing and she’s she knows that.
The landing is the place at the top of the stairs , the plateau before a decent.
It’s a time of lethargy and of naps
And it’s a time of getting thoughts in order.
She is not eating
But she sends her love.
Please don’t thank me for sharing The Weaver Update I’m very privileged to be able to do so.
I’ve done little this evening, but watched Dial M For Murder and presently Suspicion ( is it me or is Cary Grant camp as Christmas in it?)
Roger is clingy tonight and is asleep in the crook of my arm
The kittens are tamer tonight in their room upstairs
I we have had rain and the nasty humidity of the last few days has gone
The cottage smells of clean cat litter.
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