Heavenly Beverley : The Things We Do For Love...

Tuesday 23 January 2018

The Things We Do For Love...

Whenever I set out to begin a new post, my head often diverts to a song as a source for the title. Which could be considered odd, as I do not have a musical bone in my body and I am possibly the world's most singer. And I can distinctly remember all my children asking me to refrain from singing as part of their very early vocabulary.

I often have difficulty remembering songs, either the music or the lyrics, when I am searching my memory if a conversation turns towards music. My demonstrations usually confuse everybody else even more, the elusive song remains elusive and my musical attempts are shot down by howls of laughter.

Yet when I am visualising the germ of an idea that turns into a new post, up pops a song, the title and at least some of the lyrics. I find reading the complete lyrics always very amusing, as I realise that my interpretation of the words is often way off in left field.

The subject of this post is my grandcat, Ragnar. He is much loved by Callum and Bronwyn. A Ragdoll, he resembles a seal-point Siamese who has stuck his finger in a power point and his fur gives the impression that he is perpetually surprised. He has the bluest of eyes and a deceptively innocent expression. Ragdolls were bred for their docile, placid and affectionate temperaments.

Apparently.

Ragnar is obviously a changeling. From the time he was a kitten, he was fearless, somewhat aggressive and less of a lap cat than Cal and Bron presumed they were adopting. He has been known to launch himself into midair in the direction of a person, hide under chairs and attack Callum's feet, arch his back and show his teeth and claws at anybody who dares to give him a tummy rub. He stares impassively back at me when I blow raspberries at him or call him a pooh-head. He has a very strong sense of his dexterity and speed and has been known to draw blood from unfortunate bystanders intending to play with him. Interestingly, he will not leave their courtyard, even though he probably could if he tried.

In spite of all this less than desirable behaviour, he is the light of Cal and Bron's lives. Which is why, just over a week ago, they rushed their precious Ragnar to the vet after he had displayed some rather alarming symptoms reminiscent of a very young Linda Blair in "The Exorcist".

Ragnar presented with a fever, low white blood cells, cough and general malaise. Feline leukaemia was suggested, then thankfully ruled out. A first sleepless night for his Mum and Dad. A second night in an emergency vet hospital. And although critical, Ragnar still displayed all his displeasure very forcefully. Sedation was the order of the day for all procedures from checking his temperature to examining him to attaching him to a drip. He was destined to become a Cone Head after pulling his drip out and spent the rest of his hospital stay with a modern day plastic Elizabethan Collar firmly in place.

He is home now, a tad battered, bruised and shaved. And his twice-daily antibiotics are not for the faint-hearted. Bronwyn wraps him in a towel tightly until he becomes a feline burrito. Even so, the two of them are required to hold his Grumpiness to administer the drugs. I believe his protests are still quite spectacular.

And Ragnar almost cost Cal and Bron their honeymoon money. Is he grateful? Absolutely not. Has he tempered his wicked ways? You have got to be kidding. Is he still their much adored feline Viking? You'd better believe it!

These are the things we do for love.