Neville on the Town

I made it to work this morning. I walked, rather than take my bicycle, as none of the streets or sidewalks were yet ploughed, though the walkways and parking lot of my building were cleared. The company that runs the cosy apartment’s building is a pretty good one. On my way to work, I had to keep looking over my shoulder to make certain no one ran me down, as I had to trudge in the ruts already made by automobile tires, but there were few vehicles on the streets anyway. One was, and was stuck in the snow, but I and three other men helped push her clear. It took me only twenty minutes, including the time taken to help the motorist, to make it to my work-place. It usually takes me just under ten on my bicycle, so it wasn’t a long time by foot. Only about a third of the work-force is here, however, and I am the only one out of five in my department.

Now, on to the important things. As you may see from the pictures, Neville stepped out of the library and, eventually, into the sitting room. For about an hour, he relaxed at the top of the tall cat-tree there. Raleigh is very curious about him (you will note Peachy almost hidden behind the right-hand cat-tree in the second photograph), and keeps trying to approach him. I would love for those two to become pals, but so far, my hopes for friendships among my misanthropic (misfelinic?) cats have been disappointed. Neville hisses and growls at Raleigh, but it’s early days yet. The Thin Man came from an overcrowded setting, the number of cats contributing to his stress, diabetic irregularities and eating troubles, so it is not surprising that he wants to be left alone. Most of mine will probably do just that. The library - and under my bed - remain his safe zones, and he stays in the library over night and when I am absent, at least for now.

Neville’s numbers were very good all weekend, and he didn’t need insulin once. He is anxious when I come in to the library, especially in the mornings, as he fears ear-poking for his blood-glucose readings. But we are done with them for a few days. He doesn’t struggle while I am poking him anymore, which is a relief and a great convenience. He has, I think, become rather fatalistic about the process. Perhaps there is some Russian in him. I should call him Nevsky.

He also ate a hearty breakfast, as did the others. That always puts me in a good mood. I think I’d rather my cats eat well, especially to start the day, than I. Then, I was able to face the day optimistically. At least until I stepped unwittingly into the first two-foot deep snowdrift.