July 17th, 2003


It seems to be my week for

getting scratched to fuck.

Earlier on it was the tayberries, raspberries and gooseberries; today - in fact, not five minutes ago - I was disturbed by my neighbour's cat Tosca, who'd wandered in through the open back door. Tosca's a sweetie, but she's definitely a low scorer on the cat brain scale, and she'd wandered upstairs meowing pitifully because she was in unfamiliar territory. I didn't realise how upset she was, because I simply talked to her as she tried to walk through the glass of the small bedroom window, then picked her up - no towel to wrap her in, no protective gauntlets - and carried her downstairs. Half-way downstairs. At that point she threw a wobbly and decided I was some kind of Bad Man, taking off chunks of my right hand as she did so.

Well, she's out now, and not howling any more, and my hand is disinfected. If I get cat-scratch fever, you know why.
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