Retail therapy

Had another strange day today, went to see Django at the vets to give cuddles, moral support and take in some of his fave Applaws Ocean Fish, but it was completely locked up and no way could we get in. We'd been told we could visit anytime, but I suspect the hospital is somewhere else and I've been so distracted I haven't taken this info in. So I'm assuming no news is good news for the moment and waiting for the nurse's bulletin in the morning, when I'll make an appointment this time and hopefully we'll be able to see him tomorrow.

All your lovely comments certainly help lift my spirits. I love the customized poem posted by Jen of Yarnings1:

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave
with the intention of arriving safely
in an attractive and well preserved body.
But rather to skid in sideways
mouse under one paw
catnip under the other,
body thoroughly used up,
totally worn out and meowing
"WOO HOO what a chase!"

and also the parallels she makes about Django Reinhardt and his feline namesake ie through terrible accidents they were left with a hand and paw respectively scarred and limited. I had completely forgotten that the original Django played such amazing guitar with only two fingers on his left hand. I've often berated myself when fluffing chords and making a mess of a piece thinking if Django could make such incredible music with just two fingers, I should make a better job with a full complement and stop making excuses.

Arlo in his cubbyhole in the laundry

Arlo is missing his friend and mentor and isn't his usual mischievous self. He's very subdued at the moment, sleeping a lot. Usually he makes lots of trouble in the evenings wanting Django to play, when all Django wants to do is to sleep before going out on the razzle for the night. Arlo's taken refuge in the laundry where he's made a nest for himself, waiting for Django to come back. 

After failing to visit Django we decided to visit Ikea instead and distract ourselves with some retail therapy. We needed to stock up on candles and get a new supply of wicker chairs for the garden, as the previous ones finally collapsed at the end of last year and were used for kindling on the chimonea. 

At this point I should say P and I are not frequent visitors to Ikea, we don't go often enough to be familiar with the muddly layout of their stores. Maybe this is not intentional, but I'm sure it's great for business to have confused customers wandering around like zombies for hours. I'm also sure that after people give up trying to escape they find many other things they can't live without. A whole afternoon, or even a day, can disappear as you try to navigate the labyrinth, but it seems it's like the pain of childbirth - you eventually forget and off you go again. 

After the initial delight of filling my trolley with all the things I never knew I needed until I got there had worn off, I was feeling tired and wanting to pay and go. All the reasons why I never enjoy visits to Ikea came flooding back to me. They do a grand job of bringing Swedish taste and good design into our homes, but I can only assume that the people who actually design their stores are drunk on the job, as it's virtually impossible to find the way out! Even their maps are confusing and P prides himself on his A* abilities in map-reading.

So with a trolley piled high with goodies, we were like babes in the wood trying to find our way to the furniture warehouse to collect the whicker chairs. It was only after the fourth circuit of the maze we managed to find someone who could tell us how to get off the hampster wheel! 

Back home with the goodies though I find myself thinking just maybe it was a rainy day well spent.