Just a quickie...
Sep. 15th, 2005 09:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mad_andyJust thought I'd take a moment to share something with y'all. One of the things about my job that makes me smile. (Plus, if I think about the amount of work piled up for me I'll cry.)
I notice that someone has obviously been to visit Mrs Smith. (Name changed just in case... you know how it is.) How do I know this?
The sheer amount of sugary snacks scattered around the place.
Now, Mrs Smith is a nice old lady of Eastern European origin who, like many delightful elderful ladies, dotes on her cat, Tom. She is also, like many delightful elderly ladies, dreadfully lonely. She doesn't get out much, especially since she recently went blind.
But Tom - who lives the life of Riley, I might add - gives her comfort in more ways than one. Firstly, he's an excellent companion. He's not stupid, he's an ex stray and knows which side his bread is buttered on these days.
He's good company, but Mrs Smith worries about him dreadfully. He doesn't go out anymore, you see. He's not a young cat, and has decided that sitting on his arse all day (only having to decide between the best chairs and his owner's bed), wandering to his perenially-filled food bowl and accepting all the fuss and chatter a lonely old lady can give beats the crap out of the rough and tumble of outside life. Oh, and he can always sit in the window and swear sulfurously at the neighborhood cats if he gets bored, because then mum frets that he's unhappy and gives him a prawn or two to soothe his feelings.
Tom has, as they say, landed on his feet.
He doesn't even have to claw the furniture. His mum, dear soul that she is, worries that he isn't wearing his claws down, so she calls us. She can't get to the surgery, so would one of us be so kind as to go and see Tom, clip his nails, worm him, de-flea him, and incidentally be a bit of company for a while?
Tom hasn't had a flea for years. He puts up with all the attention, though, allowing you to shave the teensiest bit off the end of his claws because it's been barely three weeks since it was last done.
"All done, Tom."
"Yeah, that was hard work, wasn't it?" he sniffs, eyes half closed and lip curled in a lazy sneer. Tom is not tremendously impressed with us but seems to feel that we are a small price to pay for his life of ease.
"Time for a bit of flea stuff."
"I suppose you must?"
"Yes mate, I really, really must. Now sit still."
And he screws his eyes shut and lets you rub the nasty stuff through his fur, stalking off afterwards muttering under his breath to sit on mum's bed and sulk. He's fully aware he'll get a nice bit of chicken for his tea (to make up for the trauma) so he's not too upset.
And Mrs Smith adores the company. The nurses take it in turns to do these home visits; it's hardly an onerous duty, as one is thoroughly plied with tea and cakes while you're there. Most of us will stay for an hour or so chatting, keeping her amused with stories from work, giving her the practice gossip (censored versions, natch), telling her about our families - and, of course, listening. Fascinating lady, and remarkably cheerful all things considered.
And generous to a fault. She's been scolded repeatedly by each and every one of us for this; when she knows there's going to be a visit she stocks up on doughnuts, cakes from the WI stall and any cakes from the supermarket she thinks look nice. (All right, she tells her carer that takes her shopping. Same thing.)
Thus I know that somebody visited today. There's three packs of ten douhnuts unopened, and probably at least one more munched through today. A Victoria Sponge from the WI, that I've had the last piece of. (The cakes from the WI stall are to die for. You get the odd strange combination of flavours - coffee and lemon springs to mind - but usually there's an undignified squabble over them when they arrive.) And a cherry cake of some description from Tesco.
And if I know Mrs Smith, the nurse who visited will have been sent away with a food parcel, and I expect that there were a few more cakes that people will have taken home with them.
As you can imagine, when it's time for annual boosters we have to speak firmly to her home help; she's not to bring more than the contents of one shopping bag, clear? We've had whole picnics given to us before, and it gets embarrassing when all that's been done is a quick vaccination. But then again, it's a big event for her...
Tom just sits in the carrier and looks unimpressed with us.
But despite his air of world-weary cynicism, I think he's as fond of her as she is of him.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I must get on. But first, I think I'll have a doughnut!
I notice that someone has obviously been to visit Mrs Smith. (Name changed just in case... you know how it is.) How do I know this?
The sheer amount of sugary snacks scattered around the place.
Now, Mrs Smith is a nice old lady of Eastern European origin who, like many delightful elderful ladies, dotes on her cat, Tom. She is also, like many delightful elderly ladies, dreadfully lonely. She doesn't get out much, especially since she recently went blind.
But Tom - who lives the life of Riley, I might add - gives her comfort in more ways than one. Firstly, he's an excellent companion. He's not stupid, he's an ex stray and knows which side his bread is buttered on these days.
He's good company, but Mrs Smith worries about him dreadfully. He doesn't go out anymore, you see. He's not a young cat, and has decided that sitting on his arse all day (only having to decide between the best chairs and his owner's bed), wandering to his perenially-filled food bowl and accepting all the fuss and chatter a lonely old lady can give beats the crap out of the rough and tumble of outside life. Oh, and he can always sit in the window and swear sulfurously at the neighborhood cats if he gets bored, because then mum frets that he's unhappy and gives him a prawn or two to soothe his feelings.
Tom has, as they say, landed on his feet.
He doesn't even have to claw the furniture. His mum, dear soul that she is, worries that he isn't wearing his claws down, so she calls us. She can't get to the surgery, so would one of us be so kind as to go and see Tom, clip his nails, worm him, de-flea him, and incidentally be a bit of company for a while?
Tom hasn't had a flea for years. He puts up with all the attention, though, allowing you to shave the teensiest bit off the end of his claws because it's been barely three weeks since it was last done.
"All done, Tom."
"Yeah, that was hard work, wasn't it?" he sniffs, eyes half closed and lip curled in a lazy sneer. Tom is not tremendously impressed with us but seems to feel that we are a small price to pay for his life of ease.
"Time for a bit of flea stuff."
"I suppose you must?"
"Yes mate, I really, really must. Now sit still."
And he screws his eyes shut and lets you rub the nasty stuff through his fur, stalking off afterwards muttering under his breath to sit on mum's bed and sulk. He's fully aware he'll get a nice bit of chicken for his tea (to make up for the trauma) so he's not too upset.
And Mrs Smith adores the company. The nurses take it in turns to do these home visits; it's hardly an onerous duty, as one is thoroughly plied with tea and cakes while you're there. Most of us will stay for an hour or so chatting, keeping her amused with stories from work, giving her the practice gossip (censored versions, natch), telling her about our families - and, of course, listening. Fascinating lady, and remarkably cheerful all things considered.
And generous to a fault. She's been scolded repeatedly by each and every one of us for this; when she knows there's going to be a visit she stocks up on doughnuts, cakes from the WI stall and any cakes from the supermarket she thinks look nice. (All right, she tells her carer that takes her shopping. Same thing.)
Thus I know that somebody visited today. There's three packs of ten douhnuts unopened, and probably at least one more munched through today. A Victoria Sponge from the WI, that I've had the last piece of. (The cakes from the WI stall are to die for. You get the odd strange combination of flavours - coffee and lemon springs to mind - but usually there's an undignified squabble over them when they arrive.) And a cherry cake of some description from Tesco.
And if I know Mrs Smith, the nurse who visited will have been sent away with a food parcel, and I expect that there were a few more cakes that people will have taken home with them.
As you can imagine, when it's time for annual boosters we have to speak firmly to her home help; she's not to bring more than the contents of one shopping bag, clear? We've had whole picnics given to us before, and it gets embarrassing when all that's been done is a quick vaccination. But then again, it's a big event for her...
Tom just sits in the carrier and looks unimpressed with us.
But despite his air of world-weary cynicism, I think he's as fond of her as she is of him.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I must get on. But first, I think I'll have a doughnut!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-09-15 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-15 09:37 pm (UTC)...got a doughnut for me too? *wiggles tail*
no subject
Date: 2005-09-15 10:10 pm (UTC)Victoria Sponge. I had no idea what that is, and thus googled pictures of it. Now I a have a craving. *drools*
Also, I totally agree on your assumption that Tom's cynicism is just an act, at least what concerns his love for Mrs. Smith. Cat's just can't admit their hearty feelings. That's how they are. ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-09-15 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-15 11:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 12:03 am (UTC)I miss her....*sniffs*
I like your descriptions of Tom! *giggles*
no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 09:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 12:20 pm (UTC)You know what I think you should do? Write this up and send to Reader's Digest or one of those publications. Memorable People or something. It truly is heart-warming. And your descriptions of Tom are perfect! 'Mrs. Smith' sounds like a lovely lady, and Tom sounds like a very happy and satisfied pusskins!
no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 03:54 am (UTC)