Party central.


A snapshot of my Friday night:

I am tired after two full days back at work. I crouch halfway up the stairs on my hands and knees, my right ankle in a cast. I am watching my cat eat her own vomit.

“Please, go right ahead,” I vocalise. “Don’t let me disturb you. Eat ALL of it.”

I spend five minutes crouched on the stairs and waiting, because if she eats all of it then I won’t have to crawl the rest of the way up there.

Having a broken ankle is tough work.

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