No News Is Good News
As a blogger I have been pretty dismal with the regularity of my posts. While there has been a lot happening I am currently not really in the mood to update everyone on everything at the moment.
Sadly I have only one thing that I feel the need to report at the moment.
Mr
Worf is no longer with us. On
Tuesday night he was mauled by the neighbor's dogs. The injuries were: a broken pelvis, a deep puncture at the base of his tail, several smaller bite injuries and severe bruising to his one remaining hind leg. The blood tests given by the vet revealed that he had diabetes and serious kidney problems. After several days at the
veterinary clinic he showed signs of going downhill. Even his breathing became difficult and at the end every breath ended in a faint moan (the dodgy kidneys meant that a strong pain killer was not advisable). On Sunday afternoon at ten past five he was put to sleep. He was fifteen and a half years old and I loved him very much. He is now buried at my parent's property at black river.
My gratitude goes out to the staff of Green Cross vets
Aitkenvale for doing all that they could for him and for putting fresh flowers on the table for his last moments.
Hopefully I will pull my finger out and gove a more complete update sometime soon.
The next bit is more unpleasant and I don't actually
recommend that anybody read it (yet still I feel the need to write it down). That goes especially for you Polly.
As for how the dogs next door got hold of him I have two theories. They are locked in
their yard at all times and
Worf was not stupid enough to go through the fence. In fact I have never seen him enter that yard even when there were no dogs (he has grown quite timid in his old age). However he would often go to the toilet near the fence and they may have grabbed him through the bars. This seems unlikely but it is a possibility.
The second theory is more unpleasant. The tenant of the flat above me is very strange, at first I thought that he must have spent most of his time drunk or stoned (this may still be the case allong with the following). Now I am leaning towards severe mental ilness and an urgent need to be institutionalised. After he moved in upstairs he started accusing me of stinking up his flat. (This is the same flat that was once occupied by Ernie the Ogre. A person so foul that towards the end of his
tenancy urine would drip down through the ceiling from his bedroom [do not pity him for his incontinence, he was a font of malice]. A person who just chucked his befouled
mattress off the balcony and left it when he moved out. His flat required two days to be rendered habitable by a crew of professional cleaners. However, unless they ripped up the floorboards and decontaminated the space below then his foulness must still remain. I have noticed that
tenants rarely stay long in that flat.) Just after
Worf was attacked a letter was stuck to the door of my flat. I will not transcribe what it said but will say that it could not have been written by a sane person. In it's ramblings it included the foulest and most abusive language I have ever encountered (and I once worked
in a place where everyone
referred to each other using the C word) and explicit threats of violence both to myself and to
Worf (I am also aparrently responsible for him not being able to find a woman). So I feel that there is a good chance that he may have grabbed
Worf and thrown him over the fence to the dogs.
As for the letter, it is so
alarming in it's content that Mon says that I should take it to the police and the real estate agent. I am tending towards agreement.
Labels: Worf the cat
