Poor wee Sam was injured on Sunday night. We don't know what happened. At first we thought an animal had attacked him, due to the scratches on his left flank. Even the vet thought so. But he was still limping on Tuesday and peeing blood, so we brought him to the vet, who diagnosed a possible hip or pelvic fracture. Possibly a car, said the vet. In our gated back garden? No. More likely someone kicked him--possibly a customer?! :(
Yesterday I got my period. I was disappointed. A few days late, and I started thinking, What if, what if.
On Friday, I finally rang Mom. She asked after Sam. "Your son," she said, "Your son, huh, that's all you have. Your son."
No wonder fucking why I rarely ring her.