Tuesday 24th July 2018

Back at Christmas, it looked like we were losing Molly. At the beginning of January, she had an operation and she revored well, so much so it was hard to believe it was the same cat.

However, for the past few weeks, we have been concerned; she has been salivating more, her right eye has been weeping slightly, and then on Monday when I went to give her a pill, after touching her mouth she recoiled like she was in a great deal of pain.

So, I booked an appointment at the vets, this meant I needed the car so Jools made arrangements to catch the coach to work, and we had to be up and on to road by twenty to seven.

Jools was up first, and grabbed Molly and popped her in a basket, covered it with blankets so she would be ready for the appointment.

Jools is ready to I take her to the port to catch the coach, and I return home to have breakfast and do some work until it is time to take Molly to the vets at half nine.

And it is hot. Really doesn't need to be said any more, but it was hot. Already at half seven. I close most of the curtains around the house and have a cold shower.

Come half nine, I take Molly in the box tot he car and drive to Whitfied to the vets, I get in quick, but soon it is decided she needs an x ray, and their guy is on holiday, so I have to take her to Canterbury, to a place on the edge of the city to wait to be seen.

Once there she has to be sedated, then x rayed and the results reviewed, she be brought round, and the news was, she was OK, nothing major in infection, but given some antibiotics, and some drops for her eye, and that was it. We could go home.

Thing is, each time we take her to the vats, we get the feeling it could be her last journey. Silly I know, but she is such a part of my, of our, life that it would hurt like hell. That we have more time with her is wonderful.

And once we are back home, I feed her and she is more lively than I have seen her for weeks. She even comes back during the afternoon for more food and cuddles. I think this is because it was cooler; a thin layer of cloud had drifted over and took the top of the temperature.

Which was nice.

I do some work sitting on the sofa so I could keep an eye on Le Tour on the TV. Good stuff with the penultimate mountain stage, and Britons in 1st and 2nd in GC. Heady times. But the French crowd are booing any member of Team Sky; I'd like to think that jealousy.

Once that is over, I prepare dinner; cook pasta salad and prepare the aubergine; I mean it is that time of year when this is a perfect dinner, so am finishing up egg and breadcrumbing the aubergine slices when it was time to collect Jools from martin Mill.

We eat dinner listening to I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue, then watch an episode of Who do You Think you Are, and by then it was half eight, nearly nine by the time we tidy up and water the garden.

Where does the time go?