I know you’ve been lamenting the sorrowful lack of edifying and uplifting opinion from me of late, but there’s a very good reason for that. I’ve been quite unwell. Not my usual sturdy self at all. For 3 weeks I fought to show a dignified face to the world but it’s a bit hard when you suffer from some infernal malady which tortures the soul, embarrasses the body and defies all efforts of veterinarians to just put an end to it. I’ve felt a bit like putting an end to it myself.
At one stage, I confess, I was close to harbouring such suicidal fantasies but then I chanced to overhear the Woman Who Feeds Me discussing my likely demise with a stranger. The gall! The unmitigated gall! Naturally I dragged myself out of my stupor and rose, on shaky legs, from my sick-bed to make my indignation felt in very strong terms and a few deep gouges in the Woman’s leg. Strangely, after that burst of righteous anger, I felt a lot better. More like my old self.
Alone and unassisted I made my way to the favourite couch. Still somewhat irate, I was nevertheless coaxed to return to my customary after-dinner snoozing position with the ever comfortable Nino (both of us enjoy the postprandial nap).
I’m happy to report that the worst of my mystery illness is behind me. It’s all to do with the healing powers of frequent naps. Take my word for it.