It’s a long time since I’ve posted a moan about Bear.
In fact, apart from the occasional tantrum and tirade about living with the family, he hasn’t been too bad.
Until Thursday evening.
It was only a small thing that set him off. Our youngest cat, Willow was due for her operation (sterilisation) on Friday and food and drink were forbidden from 6 o’clock.
I made a point of telling everyone that I was feeding the cats early and then shutting Willow out of the conservatory at six to keep her away from the feeding bowls. I also put away the biscuits we keep in the bedroom (Holly’s diet – but they all like it).
During the evening I heard the rattle of biscuits coming from the bedroom and went in to find Bear putting out a bowl under Willow’s nose.
Of course, I called out to stop him and he went mad!
The verbal abuse ended with him coming at me, face full of hatred and grabbing me by the shoulders to shake me.
“I’ll shake you till your teeth drop out” he began but suddenly seemed to realise what he was doing and let me go.
He started on his usual list of complaints: I’m not a wife to him – I don’t look after him properly – all our friends wonder how he puts up with it – I’m a selfish cow, only doing what I want – and I don’t love him!
Well, of course I’m no longer in love with him: not when I’ve had to put up with that sort of behaviour for years on end, but I do look after him and I’m much nicer to him than he is to me.
Not surprisingly, I decided to sleep in the spare room “until you apologise”.
But would you believe it, he claimed that he only came towards me to kiss me and I reacted badly.
There sinply isn’t an answer to that – except that either he’s mad or I am. . . . . . . . .
By the way, Willow is still a bit dopey but she enjoyed the fish I cooked specially for her and so it looks as though she’s on the mend.