Archie and the chicken…

Last night, the smell of roast chicken brought Archie running into the kitchen. Apparently he’d been missing it, ’cause his excitement was tangible. I’m not sure how many different meows there are but I’m pretty sure the little hunter used them all. He alternated between calling and purring while the bird roasted. Then he sat under the dining room table and kept up his enthusiastic commentary all through dinner. When it was time for his serving, he jumped up onto ‘his’ counter and made quick work of a wing, before checking how much Zena was getting. Then he put on his best meow to beg for a little more. (Of course, I obliged.) No prizes for guessing who enjoyed their dinner the most.

All this got me thinking about attitudes to life. Archie (at his best,) embraces life with both paws. His enthusiasm is so contagious that I even held back on a second helping, so that he could have enough. He lives every moment and is not shy to show how important certain things are. There is no mistaking how he feels. And just in case I can’t read his body language he adds long monologues. Do I understand what he’s saying? If I answer that I’m pigeon-holed right?

My attitude to the new chemo meds started off well. I took my first dose of Xeloda, washed it down with three drops of CBD oil and climbed into bed. After a night filled with inspiring dreams and long lost paramours, I awoke in time to swallow the next lot and then dash off to meet a friend for breakfast. As I drove towards Cavendish Square, I reminded myself of the many things I’m grateful for. Driving my own car again, is certainly one of them. The morning was a resounding success and I arrived home, ready to tackle a pile of tasks…and then the headache kicked in, followed by a very sore tummy.

My mood dissipated and for a little while I succumbed to misery. Clearly the tablets were going to sabotage my life. Perhaps I should just curl up and forget about book club. I wouldn’t be adding to the fun anyway. I flicked the kettle on and reached for my favourite mug. Soon, piping hot rooibos and ginger tea eased my stomach. My head no longer throbbed. Maybe a warm shower could revive me enough?

Archie is calling. He won’t use the dog flap. His eyes remain fixed on me, until I get up and open the door. It’s the time for action in the kitchen and his favourite part of the day. But tonight he’ll have to make do with leftovers. I’ve decided to rally. I’ll be going out after all.



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