Wednesday, December 15, 2004

geese, cats & motoring

Tuesday was one of those days about which you almost wish you could wake up the next morning and say "Oh thank goodness it was just a bad dream...."

The morning was all right. I was working a full day at the office for once, so I got into town early and relied on an extra cup of coffee to counteract the five hours sleep I'd had the night before.

Quite a bit of work came across my desk, but nothing I couldn't handle. I stopped for a late lunch about 2:30 and chatted with R2 about the nature of blogs and their popularity ("No, I don't know any of the other bloggers – most of them don't even live in this hemisphere").

Then into town to pick up Kay. She was not getting about too well, having tripped over the metal framework of a rack of clothes that had been left next to the steps in a department store. After an hour in the Emergency Room with an icepack on her leg, she'd become impatient and hobbled back into town.

She could walk about six feet, then she had to stop to rest her leg, teetering precariously on her two walking sticks. I got her some painkillers from the nearest pharmacist and managed to get her into the car and drove her home.

When I arrived back at my place, my sister Julie recounted her adventures with the animals during the afternoon. She had been fixing something on her car when there was a sudden shriek from indoors – one of the mesh panels over the goose's box had fallen down and frightened the life out of her.

She leapt out of the box, screaming and honking as Julie rushed in from outside.

Julie scooped up the goose and put her in the backyard, while her cat Jezebel made herself scarce. Everything seemed to settle down.

After a while, we started to muse "I suppose the cat is inside somewhere?" We began looking about.

We looked in all her usual spots and favourite refuges. She wasn't under Julie's bed. We tried calling her in the yard and on the front lawn in case she'd slipped out during the commotion.

Even as it became dark and cool, there was no sign of her, which is most unusual for a Rex cat.

Things looked grim. Eventually we gave up the search, amidst much mutterings like "She must be somewhere!"

The next thing on the agenda was to drive over to Julie's house with a bale of hay she bought for the horse. After we'd left my place, she announced she intended to drive right over to the horse shed to unload the hay.

I demurred at first. The new roadway to the shed was unmade and we'd never driven on it before, much less in the middle of the night after some light rain. However, since we were in Julie's car it was her wishes that prevailed.

When we arrived, I got out and opened the gate for her, then shut it behind us to make sure the horse didn't stray.

By the time I closed the gate and secured it, Julie had driven to the end of the short roadway and was immovably bogged.

We tried for a few minutes to shift the car, the wheels spinning futilely.

In the end we decided to wait for daylight.

It took us 35 minutes to walk back to my house, but at least it was a nice clear night.

And the cat? She turned up on Julie's bed at 4:30 a.m. as though nothing had happened!

On the BBC website, the Saturday Play is the home of thrillers, mysteries, love stories and detective fiction, as well as an occasional special series. "A real treat for lovers of a good story well told." What more could you ask for?

Listened to a very entertaining radio play Death at the Desert Inn by Marcy Kahan .

The Desert Inn, scene of one of his greatest cabaret triumphs, is the setting for "a highly probable Noël Coward Murder Mystery" complete with Judy Garland, a showgirl, a Broadway agent, an unlikely croupier, and a Kennedyesque US congressman.

With Malcolm Sinclair, Eleanor Bron, Tam Williams, Belinda Lang, Jake Broder, Meredith MacNeil, Peter Swander, Nathan Osgood, and William Hootkins. Director Ned Chaillet.

This week's play is The Nutcracker by E.T.A. Hoffman.

Less whimsical offerings this month on the BBC website include adaptations of Dicken's Pickwick Papers and J.B. Priestley's The Good Companions


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