April 8th, 2020


(Not) Having a Ball

Waa! Jessie's eyeball has burst. I had no idea that such a thing was even possible. Her behaviour today was sedentary, but honestly no different from normal - pottering to her food bowl, clambering blindly up the sofa to find the little ramekin from which she likes to drink, standing beside me waiting to be scooped onto my lap - the usual habits of a dignified elder statescat. I stroked her half the morning, but I didn't actually look her in the eye until lunchtime - only it wasn't an eye at all, but a bulging puss-filled sac. I'm very squeamish: once was enough.

Luckily the good weather continues, so I was able to wait with her outside the vet's, where they are of course observing strict social distancing. Someone came out to fetch her, and I passed ten minutes with a book, in spring sunshine striated with the shadows of blossoming branches, something that in normal circumstances would have been very pleasant. Eventually the vet came out and, sitting crosslegged on the wall, told me in her best kerbside manner that Jessie would need to have her whole eyeball removed, and that at her age and with her low weight she may not survive it. We await the outcome of the operation, probably tomorrow.

I'm sure she would look good in a patch, but if she comes home it will be with her eyelid sewn down over the cavity.

At least I was here to take her. If things had gone according to plan, I would be three miles above Tashkent by now, en route to Kansai.