Everybody deserves to indulge in a bad day.
Archie’s started when he spotted me in the garden. I think I’ve mentioned that I’m fair prey when I venture into it. Despite knowing this, my guard was down. As I bent to prune a bush, the hunter leapt into action. Claws sunk into my leg and a bite followed swiftly. My shrieks sent the attacker strutting off, ears back and tail twitching his displeasure. I inspected the damage. Not life threatening, but definitely in need of a plaster.
A cat whisperer. I need to consult one urgently. Why would my normally loving, communicative tomcat turn me into prey whenever I ventured outside? As I flopped down on the patch of lawn, my attention was drawn to my itchy feet. The desire to scratch them to death overcame me and I did just that. The chemo tablets. Of all the weird side effects, this one takes first prize. Archie’s bad day was paling in comparison to mine.
I’ve never really taken much notice of my feet. Now I look down at them at realize that they used to be in pretty good shape. I don’t have particularly dainty ones and my toes took a hammering en pointe, in their day. But they’ve served me well and with a touch of polish, they’re pretty acceptable. Now, the soles are inflamed and the itching has only got worse with my endeavours to relieve it. I’m tempted to succumb to the misery…
But the sun has come out and Archie has returned to purr at my side. The attack is in the past and in this moment, he loves me unconditionally. I forgive him instantly. If only forgiving was always this simple. An hour reading in the sun seems like the best idea I’ve had all day. There’ll still be time to sort out the garage the Marie Kondo way. The chicken livers are defrosting and when the sun sets, I’ll tackle supper. Lockdown has taken away many worldly privileges, but it has given us the gift of time. If I can figure out the Netflix connection, I’ll watch another episode of Unorthodox tonight. Something about Esty’s life resonates impellingly. But that’s for another post.
And despite the rocky start, my Easter Sunday has turned out to be a good one. Hot cross buns and a milk chocolate bunny certainly helped. Notwithstanding the extension of our isolation, there is a feeling of rebirth in the air. I’ve spotted a whole bunch of new birds in the trees and am going to dig out the Roberts soon. Bird watching has taken on a new appeal. Azure skies and a tranquil sea, bring an unexpected lift to my mood.
My lime and soda is almost as good as a glass of bubbly and I’m planning to turn my supper dish into something exotic…but I could swear the pile of livers was bigger before. In fact, I’m sure it was. My eyes are drawn to a telltale piece of onion abandoned next to Archie’s bowl. This is too much. No forgiveness will be forthcoming anytime soon. I begin my preparations and add more ingredients to compensate for the loss. The cat’s behaviour has finally tipped over into totally unacceptable.
The corona virus news update is sobering and a reminder that we’re living through tragic times. None of us are safe. The present moment is truly all we have. It is incumbent upon us to be grateful and forgiving. This is a time for reaching out in service. It is no time to hold onto ancient grudges, which only serve to poison us.
…Once my light is out and I snuggle under the duvet, a little plop tells me that I have company. I resolve to ignore it, but an enthusiastic purring session makes me relent and I allow the recalcitrant hunter to curl up behind my knees. I do need to practise what I preach, not so?