We had a carer this morning. She got Mog up for me, managed to brush the Little Princess' hair, and even found time to play a game of snap whilst I searched for the remnants of my sanity, still somewhat shredded from yesterday's activities.
And then she left, and five minutes later the phone rang. "Have you got both your cats with you? Because there's a very flat cat down here, I think it might be one of yours."
And so I spent this morning shovelling Gotcha off the pavement. Far too big a beastie for the bag I had brought with me, I posted his face into it and carried one very stiff, ridiculously heavy, ex-feline friend 300 yards to the vet. Apologies to anyone who may have been walking children to school at the same time, but I couldn't leave him there. He slipped his collar last week; would someone have called me if he'd been wearing it? I don't think it would have made any difference to the outcome, but who knows?
I can't say Goodbye, Old Friend; he was only two. I can say I bottled out of trying to explain cremation to a six year old, only to spend the afternoon trying to explain that no, he won't mind being buried because there's nothing left to mind.
And then this afternoon, his new collar arrived in the post.
I think it's safe to say today has not been a great day either.