Doing my job
I was only doing my job yesterday and I still got into trouble for it. It is my job to look after Mum. I have taken the role very seriously for the last nine years. If she’s not well, I stay very close to her, keep her warm and make her smile. At the moment she’s not well. Yesterday, Dad offered to take me for a walk. The problem was that it meant leaving Mum on her own at home and I didn’t want to do that.
I tried refusing to go altogether, but he said it would be good for both of us. Once we were through the door, I kept turning around every few yards to see if I could still see the house and ask to go back. That was when Dad got cross. He said having me twisting all the time wasn’t doing his back any good. There’s gratitude for you. You would think he’d be pleased I was so concerned about Mum.
The rest of the weekend
The rest of the weekend so far has been spent alternating between sitting with our paws up and putting some more things away. Dad has been putting up more of the pictures. Mum has been sorting through all the leaflets which humans keep, telling them how things work. In a moment of frustration, because of how much room they were all taking up on the shelf, Mum realised two things. Firstly, there is no point keeping instructions for things you don’t have anymore. Secondly, the thick manuals are only that size because of all the different languages they are in. Given Mum only speaks one language with any degree of confidence, keeping the whole booklet is a waste of space. I’m pleased to say, the leaflets have now been reduced to a manageable pile.
Love
Wilma
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