Thursday, 7 February 2008

"Good News/Bad News" AKA "Moving House/Dear Little Splodge..."

Current mood:  worried
 
Well, we have good news and bad news.  What do you want to hear first?  The good news came first, so I guess I'll start there.
David came home from work the evening after our fight (sorry, I may have already told you this bit - I'm just kind of stressed right now) and spoke normally to Mum.  Not to me at first, but he started speaking to me later on.  He did her family history job with her (and accidentally deleted part of her tree at the same time, so she wasn't best pleased, but she held her tongue).  While they were doing the job, Mum commented that she couldn't do the work properly because she doesn't have a desk yet (She's waiting until we move house), and David replied, "Yeah, Pity you ain't having a desk now, hmm?"  Rather un-necessary, I thought.
That night, David put his coat on.  "Where are you going?" Mum asked.  "Well, it's my night to sleep at the other house, isn't it?!" He replied.  "Really?" Mum asked.  "And I thought you were selling it too!"  "Well, I'll keep sleeping there until I sell it!" He declared. (Hmm, funny that he's selling it, even though it's Mum's house!)  "Hmm."  Mum said, rather annoyed.  "OK."  David answered, as though he had just made a very important decision.  "Perhaps I won't sell it then!"  Very nice of you, David.
Anyhow, it looks like we are moving again now.  So the last two nights he's been looking at the plans...well, at least pretending to.  Really he's just been watching the football on TV.  Still, at least things should be going ahead eventually.
Now the bad news:  Splodge is very ill.  I don't know what's wrong with him, but I think he really is on his way out this time.  Being a rather thick guinea pig, he doesn't seem to know he's ill yet, which is good, because it means he's not suffering at all.  In fact, he's skipping about.  But he's noticeably skinnier than he was a few weeks back, and he's dribbling badly.  He's also having difficulty eating.  I think he must have something trapped in his teeth (probably similar to what I reckon Sparkle had wrong with him at the end), and really it's just a matter of waiting for it to dislodge.  He's had this problem before, and suddenly spits out a piece of half-rotten celery when it comes loose.  The real trouble is if it moves back into his throat.  Because then he'll probably suffer the nasty end that Sparkle had, choking and dribbling etc.  So now I'm breaking his food up into REALLY tiny pieces, and I'm terrified to give it to him.  Of course, he's upset that I'm not giving him his normal supper.  Poor boy.  There's no way he could understand why I'm doing such a horrible thing to him. 
I want to take him to the vet tomorrow, but David's being horrible and saying he can't get the time off work.  Please note his bosses still haven't paid him, and haven't even made an agreement that they will pay him.  Still, work comes before family, as usual.  He's gone off to sleep in the other house now, but he was sure to yell at me and tell me how awful I am for expecting him to come in early to take poor little Splodge to the vet tomorrow.  "I don't work just round the corner, you know!", he says.  (He's about twenty minutes drive from here, by the way).  So goodness knows what's going to happen now.  I'll get my poor little piggy to the vet tomorrow somehow.  Fingers crossed he doesn't get sicker overnight, and the vet knows what's wrong...
In other news, Emma had to have her iron transfusion today, but hasn't written to us since (I hope it all went OK!), and David hasn't been to the launderette for AGES, so I've had to wear the same pair of threadbare trousers for six days, and I'm out of underwear as of tomorrow.  Those problems kind of pale in comparison to my poor little baby being sick though.
Right, I'm off to break up more tiny little cucumber pieces.
Love, and best wishes,
Desiree Skylark xxx

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