Pynchon

Lorraine was in work very early this morning so that she could take Moon The Cat to the Vet for a check up this afternoon. When she got home to collect him, she found Moon practically unconscious on the upstairs landing. She revived him, gave him food and then called me.

"Did you give him his insulin?"

"Yes, of course I gave him his fucking insulin!"

Then she said, "I need to make a decision" and then she hung up.

I was expecting to come home to a dead Cat. I didn't.

Lorraine gave Moon some food. (He ate 4 pouches of cat food.) She took him to the Vet. The Vet did some tests and said... wait for it... that Moon's results were the best he had seen for ages.

What do you think? Was Moon having a laugh? Perhaps he felt a bit warm and just fell asleep in the coolest area of the house?

Anyway...

It has been a bit frosty in the house tonight. After Lorraine had ignored me for a few hours I asked her if she fancied a fumble tonight? Sadly she didn't.

We will be on speaking terms by the time our visitors arrive. (Fucking hell, I hope so!)

I need to go to bed. Work tomorrow and then...

Come On England!