Still suffering the cleaning-up rituals associated with a cat who seems to have a permanent dodgy tummy without showing any symptoms or results in all the tests the vet has subjected her to. Worrying that my house will smell of cat poo to a visitor as we are becoming fast immune to it; reaching for the anti-bac wipes (floor) and then baby wipes (cat bum) is starting to feel like the normal routine when entering the house from work. I wonder if in this lies the answer ;when we are not present we have no problems, our lovely girl seems to like our participation in the cleaning process... she is a deeply strange cat with numerous neurotic habits, so who's to say this isn't the latest incarnation of her funny little mind? Not that I can talk; my worrying is legendary but I impressed even myself today. Leaving work and walking down the street I was suddenly gripped by a worry - 'what was it I was supposed to be worrying about?' That was the literal sentence that formed in my head, and I had to find the answer (cat and poo) before setting off on my way again. I am the archetypal mad person who worries that they don't have anything to worry about. Slippery slope...
Just reading a story about an obsessive hoarder and thinking, 'there but for the grace...'. It does beg the age old question of 'What is normal?'.
I'm thinking of Dash's outburst in 'The Incredibles' (who says we have to quote highbrow?):
'Normal?!! What does anyone in this family know about normal??' I spend worry time thinking about my mother talking/singing to herself and then, surprise, catch myself doing it. Plus ca change (plus c'est la meme chose).
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