Even patient souls can be tested

I took Haggis to the vet today. On Sunday, I noticed one of her claws was raw and red, and when I checked, I found that most of her claws were in the same condition: scraped very short, down to the red-brown blood vessel. A couple were their usual condition - sharp - but I was shocked.

Haggis is, as Robert says, self-sharpening - she keeps her claws sharp and I trim the front ones, and only rarely the rear ones, when they're too sharp for comfort.

If they were scraped down to the nub, it was from her scrabbling hard. This happens if cats are hit by cars, or kicked - concrete and tarmac can act like sandpaper. We have a mix of surfaces in our neighbourhood, but she's been here a year, and this is the first time she's claws like this.

Oddly, nothing else was wrong: happy, chatty, affectionate, eating fine, in and out as usual.

But we were concerned enough to decide she could have an early trip to the V-E-T for her annual check and shots.

Poor Haggis: a cab ride, half an hour sitting in a waiting room with 3 dogs, at least 2 cats and a pungent smell of cat pee, then the undignified exam and jab.

By the end, she was using some really shocking language: I've never heard her both hiss and growl in sequence, but there was no help for it, the vet just wasn't taking any notice. If she'd been human she would have embarrassed a sailor.

We always tell our vet how awesome our cats are - sweet tempered, chatty, affectionate, interactive. All he ever sees us bring in is grumpy stressed cats.

She really is sweet though: no sulking, no resentment. We're back to chatting and lap-seeking within the afternoon.

Dodging the strike

The Tube has been on strike for the past 2 days.

Unlike strikes in Canada, though, they are short, timed events. They announce them well in advance, and both sides (unions and TfL) proclaim that they are actually the ones who have the best interests of London at heart, and pretend to apologise for the inconvenience to the public.

Fortunately I could dodge this, this time, working at home. It's not as efficient as being at work. Only one screen, relying on a virtual intra-net, the laptop has software setup glitches; it doesn't belong to any single person, so noone has taken the time to sort it, always handing it back in before getting them resolved. It's fiddly to keep phoning my coworkers instead of just turning around to talk to them. The chair and desk aren't comfortable for hours at a time.

But my god, waking up at 8.45 and being home for an extra few hours feels sooo different. It's the hours at the end of the day that feel so different to me. Home at 5pm, 5.30, 6pm, 6.30! Luxury.

Robert simply walked to his office - 45 mins, almost the same as being on the (regular) bus, definitely faster than waiting for buses this week.

Next strike is set for next week. Lather rinse repeat.