Subheading Chronic

You know you're a true adult when you take an old friend to the vet, sign the forms, sit and hold him and wait for the purring to stop... and then drive home. Alone.

I seem to have mislaid my sunglasses; red frames, dark brown lenses in a white glasses case. Did any of the many delightful HL past and present ladies pick them up by accident, by any chance? am a muppet and found them in my laptop bag some time later.

In other news: Piccadilly Circus queue party, yay. Deathly Hallows, also yay. And ooh. And many other things besides which I shall not discuss lest someone be unwise enough to read LJ while hoping not to be spoilered.

May I draw your attention to this and this and indeed this, if you're feeling really enthusiastic about it.

Oh, yeah. The relevant bit: I'm IN THAT. And I was right at the front with a camera up my nose so hopefully I might even make it onscreen... although as there were 800 of us obviously it's entirely possible that I won't actually be visible at all cos cameras do that. Especially when you're fat, spotty and sitting in a nasty steel wheelchair.

Ollie

Ollie, who I've been fostering for about a month, has been a Very Poorly Cat Indeed. This weekend, even, I was absolutely convinced he'd not see Monday. He seems to be feeling better at the moment, though. He's about 12, a long, handsome, slinky black fellow with just a few white guard-hairs about the place. When he's ill with whatever it is that's affecting him - we don't know exactly what - he goes round and round in circles endlessly, bumping into things and occasionally falling over. Steroid injections make it go away, and if they keep being able to make it go away then given his age and history (before me all we know is that he spent a month in a very small hospital cage in a vets with no proper human contact) that's all there will be to it.

We discussed the possibility of his needing blood tests but as the Cats Protection League is meeting his bill, as a fostered stray, the vet said he'd not waste their money for such an elderly, poorly cat.

Today, one of Ollie's well-wishers, who shall by their own choice remain anonymous, informed me that the £150 for a full set of bloods would be donated to the CPL with Ollie's name on, if he needed it.

I am stunned. This is not someone I am particularly close to; I'm not even sure I know their surname or where they live. It might save Ollie's life, and it's restored my faith in humanity pretty comprehensively.

So thank you, Anonymous Donor. You're a fantastic person.

( Footie. ) Watched it in the Porters Lodge at college as I was technically ushering at the time. Thanks, guys.

This is really quite funny.

ETA: Doh! Bad link.

I keep having this conversation with people, so I figured if I just stick it here then it might save me a few.
( Here goes. )
My name is not autism, it's Becca.

My very first entry. I've decided not to tell anyone about this, so let's see how long it takes my friends to locate my journal. If you're reading this, please leave a comment to say hello.