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I wasn't wearing my glasses when I went grocery shopping on Friday -- and also slightly tipsy because I'd had lunch before with lovely landlord+wife -- and so I mistook the turnips for fresh ginger. My experience with turnips being absolutely nil, I was at first tempted simply to throw them away, but then decided to give them a go, because I was planning to prepare some exotic-oriental veggie-cum-tofu thingy for last night's dinner, and since I'd never before used turnips, they were certainly exotic to me. Stir-frying is probably not the most appropriate method for cooking turnips, but I was using them sparingly, and they were ok. Next time I'll try and mash them, maybe mixed with sweet potatoes and parsnips.
Re. cats I had a slightly less pleasant, but ultimately happy experience this (long) weekend. I always feed "my" street cats at approximately the same time, whether I go to work or not. If I don't, I enjoy watching them from the living room window while they're eating. On Friday, I noticed that one of them was walking funny, and on Saturday the poor thing was hardly able to walk, dragging her hind legs that didn't seem to want to cooperate. She'd come to the feeding spot after the others; it was still early (a little before 8 a.m.), and so I didn't want to wake up the vet too early -- on the other hand, I didn't want to catch her and put her in the carrier, in case the vet wasn't in Skopje for the weekend. So I watched where she was going, saw that she somehow managed to drag herself back to the garage (most of the cats live there; it's huge, not too cold, impenetrable to dogs, and generally not the worst place for them to stay), and called the vet around 8.30. He told me to get her into the carrier and call him, and he'd come by to take her away.
My hopes for the cat to survive weren't very high. Since she was dragging both hind legs, it was looking like a spine injury, and so it would probably be better just to put her to sleep. Still, better than her dying slowly and horribly.
So I grabbed the carrier, put on a pair of thick gloves and descended to the bowels of the building.
Stupid me, really. I know from experience that, if a cat doesn't want to be found, it is perfectly able to achieve that effect in a sparsely furnished, 100 sqft flat. Imagine a garage of about 500 square metres... I spent about half an hour there, but had to return upstairs empty-handed (and carrier-ed). Sent the vet a text, telling him that I'd have to wait till feeding time on Sunday -- if she was still alive, she'd surely come out to eat and I could get her then.
So I stood waiting at the window yesterday morning, carrier and gloves within easy reach. Imagine my surprise when the cat arrived, late but to all intents and purposes unhurt and able to walk. I know it was her, because there are only two black-and-white ones, and one (the one I named Harry, on account of her emerald eyes) is distinctly smaller than the "hurt" one.
And then it dawned on me that the cat had probably been pregnant. She's young, and the winter coat is thick, which means that pregnancy isn't easy to spot, because the first one often produces a litter of only one or two. These, however, are often very big, which accounts for a very prolonged birth, the fact that she could barely move her hind legs, but had to get food and water eventually. Let's see whether the little ones have survived/ will survive -- I strongly doubt that they made it through protracted labour anyway. But at least the mother is safe.
And now to the double squee:
Squee #1: "Cabin Pressure". OMG the brilliance. I started listening to it on Saturday while shortening the new jeans, and am completely in love.
Squee #2: I wrote Patrick Rothfuss a mail last Wednesday, and he actually replied!!!!
Since this is practically an historical occurrence, I'm pasting both mails into this post:( My first ever fan mail, and the reply )
Re. cats I had a slightly less pleasant, but ultimately happy experience this (long) weekend. I always feed "my" street cats at approximately the same time, whether I go to work or not. If I don't, I enjoy watching them from the living room window while they're eating. On Friday, I noticed that one of them was walking funny, and on Saturday the poor thing was hardly able to walk, dragging her hind legs that didn't seem to want to cooperate. She'd come to the feeding spot after the others; it was still early (a little before 8 a.m.), and so I didn't want to wake up the vet too early -- on the other hand, I didn't want to catch her and put her in the carrier, in case the vet wasn't in Skopje for the weekend. So I watched where she was going, saw that she somehow managed to drag herself back to the garage (most of the cats live there; it's huge, not too cold, impenetrable to dogs, and generally not the worst place for them to stay), and called the vet around 8.30. He told me to get her into the carrier and call him, and he'd come by to take her away.
My hopes for the cat to survive weren't very high. Since she was dragging both hind legs, it was looking like a spine injury, and so it would probably be better just to put her to sleep. Still, better than her dying slowly and horribly.
So I grabbed the carrier, put on a pair of thick gloves and descended to the bowels of the building.
Stupid me, really. I know from experience that, if a cat doesn't want to be found, it is perfectly able to achieve that effect in a sparsely furnished, 100 sqft flat. Imagine a garage of about 500 square metres... I spent about half an hour there, but had to return upstairs empty-handed (and carrier-ed). Sent the vet a text, telling him that I'd have to wait till feeding time on Sunday -- if she was still alive, she'd surely come out to eat and I could get her then.
So I stood waiting at the window yesterday morning, carrier and gloves within easy reach. Imagine my surprise when the cat arrived, late but to all intents and purposes unhurt and able to walk. I know it was her, because there are only two black-and-white ones, and one (the one I named Harry, on account of her emerald eyes) is distinctly smaller than the "hurt" one.
And then it dawned on me that the cat had probably been pregnant. She's young, and the winter coat is thick, which means that pregnancy isn't easy to spot, because the first one often produces a litter of only one or two. These, however, are often very big, which accounts for a very prolonged birth, the fact that she could barely move her hind legs, but had to get food and water eventually. Let's see whether the little ones have survived/ will survive -- I strongly doubt that they made it through protracted labour anyway. But at least the mother is safe.
And now to the double squee:
Squee #1: "Cabin Pressure". OMG the brilliance. I started listening to it on Saturday while shortening the new jeans, and am completely in love.
Squee #2: I wrote Patrick Rothfuss a mail last Wednesday, and he actually replied!!!!
Since this is practically an historical occurrence, I'm pasting both mails into this post:( My first ever fan mail, and the reply )
