Woken at 5.45am by the sound of Scrumpy's not very delicate paws thundering downstairs for a morning chop-chop, looks like someone slept in with Daddy last night. I, in the meantime, am having a more peaceful love-in with Mojo, who has managed to hang onto her breakfast today. Yesterday she threw it up on the new bedroom carpet, but Scrumpy was right behind her, had it all re-eaten and licked up 20 seconds later.. now that's pet teamwork.
Tootled down to the cottage late morning (after the obligatory pop in to PS, sigh) for weekend away mark 2. Actually had a pub lunch on the way with Mr H, our first 'date' / little treat or any kind of trip out together since the transplant. Sure, I only had a tuna sandwich minus its crusts, plus 10 chips, so not the full on feast, but it was a really good step forward nonetheless.
Got to cottage feeling shattered so straight to bed for 2 hours, what a great guest I am, not. H out mowing the lawn, staking out some bushes and earning the Hawkes' keep for both of us.
Evening mostly spent on sofa with a bit of sitting up, I'm a crazy cat, me. Had 2 spoons of J's homemade moussaka for dinner, in between being bounced on by two dogs, intent on chewing each others' heads off.
Bed by 9pm as J and H boffing on about which vineyards to go to when we all – with luck – head to Bordeaux in May. It's the first trip I'm hoping to do when things are better, and we might book flights tomorrow. Or wait till the biopsy's done and we have a clearer picture of what might lie ahead. Never a 'good time' to try and make plans in this world, it's always a total guessing game as to what might be possible and when. Still, it's good to hope x