Progress at last

Glad and relieved to report that Neville was discharged from hospital two days ago. Despite best efforts, had little success in tracking down his family. Had thorough look around dustbins in Gorgie and Dalry areas of Edinburgh. Only found one relative: an elderly aunt who seemed a bit confused. Thought she remembered Neville, but couldn't be certain. Rest of his family had apparently relocated to Trinity because contents of dustbins were healthier. Wasn't aware mice were so picky about food.



























Anyway, Neville taken home by ambulance: had offered to transport him by tartan shopping bag on wheels but doctors feared it might be too bumpy.

When reached street of flat, amazed to see a line up of residents and their pets. Thought I knew most of what white mouse was up to, but apparently not. Several residents informed me he'd been facilitating workshops on communicating with relatives in foreign parts via rusty floorboards. Also had been running classes on breakdancing for cats over age of ten, having convinced them that such aerobic exercise most helpful in keeping hearts healthy, and preventing obesity.



Neville quite overcome by turn out. Hardly ever seen him cry before. When ambulance stopped, persuaded paramedics to let me take over. Perched Neville at top of shopping bag, in harness prepared by Oscar - who, it turns out, is not only academic genius, but also extremely good at making climbing gear. Once secured in harness, Neville insisted on shaking hands/paws with all residents of our street.




Half an hour later, finally got him into flat and settled in particularly cosy woolly sock left by previous resident. Spent pleasant evening watching 101 Dalmations on telly. Watched it before, but enjoyed it more, knowing that Neville was safe.

















Swear never to complain about anything he does again. Ever. Saussure believes me. Notsaussure unconvinced and tells me that in a week's time I'll be miaowing at Neville to sort out the floorboards in the kitchen, and participate in housework chores, as per chart drawn up yonks ago by Saussure.

Purrs

Bakhtin

When the going gets rough

Seem to be forever apologising for an absence of letters. Truth is have been going through one of the hardest patches of my life. After blogging that Neville had improved he relapsed. Got phone call one night saying his blood pressure had dropped and he was unconscious. Doctors suspected hypovolemic shock. Was so shaken that Saussure offered to transport me to hospital in tartan shopping bag on wheels. Too fragile to resist. Arrived on ward to find curtains round Neville's bed and feared the worst. Was trembling so much, Saussure told me to remain in shopping bag while he went to find out what was going on. He returned several minutes later and told me Neville was being treated. Spent night in shopping bag, in day room of ward. Saussure stayed too, which made me feel calmer.



Next day, Neville was better in the morning then relapsed late afternoon. This continued. Eventually psychiatrist asked to visit. After talking to white mouse for ages, he conferred with surgical staff. Because I'd been named as next of kin, and having received permission from Neville, doctors called me into duty room. Explained they thought Neville's erratic blood pressure might be caused by psychosomatic reasons and asked me if I knew of any trauma he'd been through. I mentioned he was estranged from his twenty five brothers and sisters and his mother. They asked me for contact details. Had to think hard. Remembered once Neville mentioning a dustbin near Gorgie. Decided to look for aforementioned dustbin and see if I could find any of his family.



However, when informed Neville of this, he turned a deadly mauve colour and said that any contact with his siblings would be disastrous. What he really wanted, he told me, and I still remember the bolt of surprise which shot through me, was to see Henri, and in particular, to look at his recipe book, Guineapigging Out. Although I experienced severe jealousy pangs, told myself all that mattered was Neville's full recovery, so agreed to contact guinea pig and pass on message.

Went home to have proper sleep in basket. Found letter from Justice Chatterton. In it he told me he felt so bad about Neville's accident (for new readers, he was hit by golf ball on the famous old course of St Andrews), that he wanted to waive his fees for representing my libel case in court. Assuming I'd accept - which I felt was somewhat arrogant - he suggested we meet each day for a week, going through everything I'd written about loopy lecturer. Phoned to agree a first meeting.




In fact this process has taken several weeks and my days have been spent going between Parliament House and the hospital. Exhausted as I am, have learned that if you have two things to worry out, in some way this helps. Pending libel case is distraction from worry about flatmate mouse. Worry about Neville is distraction from lawsuit.



Justice Chatterton now looking for credible witnesses to vouch for me in court. To my horror, heard this evening that Henri has been camped outside Mr Chatterton's home for three days, convinced he is the most powerful witness I could have. The cynic in me, while not doubting Henri will help my case, suspects another motive. Knowing that the advocate moves in the dinner party circle, Henri no doubt sees an opportunity for further promotion of his book. Hmm....

Purrs Bakhtin