My little car was inspected on Friday morning, and on Monday I got a text message (Honestly, this doesn't warrant a phone call?) from the underwriters,to say that they do not consider the car to be economical to repair so want to write it off. To be fair, they are probably right - its 12 years old, so not worth a vast amount, but I have owned it ever since it was new, and I got very attached to it.
So, I now have to buy a new (to-me) car. And I am finding the idea rather stressful, partly because I'm being bounced into buying at short notice. Also, because I am trying to move house, its not the best time to be buying a car - I'd rather do it after I move, when I have a better idea of how much spare money I have. But needs must.
Ttoday, I had a conversation with the insurers to get hold of the engineers report to double check the figures, and to run it past my Smart guys (who confirmed that both the costs if it was repaired and the value are probably about right - it's not really possible to do a direct comparison, as there are very few of the age, make and model as mine around, and those which there are all have significantly lower mileage. The ones which are older are all left hand drive, as well, which makes it harder still. But I think if my garage who knows both the car, and the make, very well, think the figure is fair, then they are probably right.
So. I think I am going to hire a car for the next week or two so I have time to look around, rather than buying the first car I see because I have to give the hire car provided by the insurers back and need a car urgently - I think that spending £300 or so to make the time to find the right car rather than the first one I can find is probably a sensible idea.
But I can't really summon any enthusiasm for the task.
Showing posts with label Sadness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sadness. Show all posts
Tuesday, 28 January 2014
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
R.I.P. Tybalt 1998-2013
This is a really hard post to write. I'm sitting in a house which feels a lot colder and emptier than it ever did before.
I met Tybalt in 1998. I'd just managed to move out of shared, rented accommodation into a place of my own, so pets became a possibility, and I pretty much immediately started to look around for a kitten.
There was a card in one of the local pet shops offering grey kittens, free to good homes, and I'd always rather fancied a grey cat, so I arranged to go round to see them. They were adorable, and then their owners said 'oh, and there's a tabby kitten from another litter. He's a bit older" so I explained that no, I really wanted a grey one.
And so, inevitably, 20 minutes later I was driving home with a small, fuzzy, annoyed tabby kitten in a cardboard box on the seat beside me, and he has been with me ever since.
I named him Tybalt, after the character in 'Romeo and Juliet' and on the basis of the notes on my school copy of the play, which said that Tybalt was a common name for pet cats in Shakespeare's day.
He never lived up to his name. He wasn't a rat-catcher, he wasn't a fighter. Indeed, if I didn't love him so much I might be tempted to say he was a bit of a wuss. He did run away from a rabbit, once. Admittedly, it was a large, and aggressive rabbit, but still. He used to moths, and the odd wasp which got itself trapped against the glass in the windows, and he tried to catch the vultures on David Attenborough's 'Life of Birds' (I had a really small TV then)
He was very nervous, to start with, and would rush off if I had the temerity to cough, or move, or breathe too heavily while he was sitting on me, but as he got older he got more relaxed. After 10 years or so he would even, occasionally, sit on people other than me, if I wasn't available.
Unlike many cats, he was unfazed by travelling, and after a few minutes complaining, would settle down in the car and snooze his way through the drive, and would then be perfectly happy in whatever new house I took him to.
He came to my parents home for Christmas, when he was younger he came with me to my grandmother's house (where it took him around 5 minutes to find the airing cupboard) and after these visits, he would always remember the houses, and be able to find his way to the warm spots, and to whichever bed I was sleeping in, without any difficulty, even after over a year.
He could be playful - my friend Stacy sent him a quilt filled with catnip, which he loved (the video was from when it first arrived)
He could be beautiful, and elegant, and sometimes he could be goofy as anything.
about 18 months ago he developed thyroid problems, and lost a lot of weight before he was properly diagnosed and stabilised, and he's started to slow down.
He spent a bit more time lounging and snoozing, and a little less playing, but he still enjoyed life, and in particular the extra treats and meals he got to try to get his weight back up.
He continued to hold me responsible for the weather, and for anything else of which he disapproved,
Whenever I went away, leaving him to the tender mercies of visiting minions, he would loudly proclaim, on my return (and often while standing next to a well-filled bowl of cat biscuits) that he had been cruelly starved and neglected in my absence, and he would always forget and forgave, and be curled up on my lap purring loudly within minutes.
This morning, when I came downstairs to give him his breakfast, he was as pleased to see me as he normally is, but I found he had not eaten his supper, and he had no interest in his breakfast, or even in his sardine (the delivery method of choice for his medication) and he was wheezing and not breathing well.
He couldn't be bothered to hide when I got his carrier out, or to protest when I put him in it, or to hiss at the vet when we got there. I had to leave him there, so they could start treatment for likely acute anaemia, and do tests to see what was causing it. I got a call about 2 hours later, to confirm that the blood counts showed he was very anaemic, but that he was sleepy, not too stressed, and they were going to treat the symptoms while they waited for more test results to identify the cause, but then an hour or so later there was another call. He wasn't responding to the treatments, his condition had deteriorated a lot, very rapidly, and he was fitting. They didn't think he would make it long enough for me to get back to the vets so I could be with him while they put him to sleep, or fair to him to make him wait for me.
And now I am sitting here, in this suddenly empty house, with tears running down onto my keyboard, because I've just been able to write a whole post, without anyone walking over my keyboard, or butting at my hands until I remember that laps are for cats, not laptops, and move it so he can sit there.
I met Tybalt in 1998. I'd just managed to move out of shared, rented accommodation into a place of my own, so pets became a possibility, and I pretty much immediately started to look around for a kitten.
 |
| Kitten! |
And so, inevitably, 20 minutes later I was driving home with a small, fuzzy, annoyed tabby kitten in a cardboard box on the seat beside me, and he has been with me ever since.
I named him Tybalt, after the character in 'Romeo and Juliet' and on the basis of the notes on my school copy of the play, which said that Tybalt was a common name for pet cats in Shakespeare's day.He never lived up to his name. He wasn't a rat-catcher, he wasn't a fighter. Indeed, if I didn't love him so much I might be tempted to say he was a bit of a wuss. He did run away from a rabbit, once. Admittedly, it was a large, and aggressive rabbit, but still. He used to moths, and the odd wasp which got itself trapped against the glass in the windows, and he tried to catch the vultures on David Attenborough's 'Life of Birds' (I had a really small TV then)
He was very nervous, to start with, and would rush off if I had the temerity to cough, or move, or breathe too heavily while he was sitting on me, but as he got older he got more relaxed. After 10 years or so he would even, occasionally, sit on people other than me, if I wasn't available.
Unlike many cats, he was unfazed by travelling, and after a few minutes complaining, would settle down in the car and snooze his way through the drive, and would then be perfectly happy in whatever new house I took him to.
He came to my parents home for Christmas, when he was younger he came with me to my grandmother's house (where it took him around 5 minutes to find the airing cupboard) and after these visits, he would always remember the houses, and be able to find his way to the warm spots, and to whichever bed I was sleeping in, without any difficulty, even after over a year.
He could be playful - my friend Stacy sent him a quilt filled with catnip, which he loved (the video was from when it first arrived)
He could be beautiful, and elegant, and sometimes he could be goofy as anything.
about 18 months ago he developed thyroid problems, and lost a lot of weight before he was properly diagnosed and stabilised, and he's started to slow down.He spent a bit more time lounging and snoozing, and a little less playing, but he still enjoyed life, and in particular the extra treats and meals he got to try to get his weight back up.
Whenever I went away, leaving him to the tender mercies of visiting minions, he would loudly proclaim, on my return (and often while standing next to a well-filled bowl of cat biscuits) that he had been cruelly starved and neglected in my absence, and he would always forget and forgave, and be curled up on my lap purring loudly within minutes.This morning, when I came downstairs to give him his breakfast, he was as pleased to see me as he normally is, but I found he had not eaten his supper, and he had no interest in his breakfast, or even in his sardine (the delivery method of choice for his medication) and he was wheezing and not breathing well.
He couldn't be bothered to hide when I got his carrier out, or to protest when I put him in it, or to hiss at the vet when we got there. I had to leave him there, so they could start treatment for likely acute anaemia, and do tests to see what was causing it. I got a call about 2 hours later, to confirm that the blood counts showed he was very anaemic, but that he was sleepy, not too stressed, and they were going to treat the symptoms while they waited for more test results to identify the cause, but then an hour or so later there was another call. He wasn't responding to the treatments, his condition had deteriorated a lot, very rapidly, and he was fitting. They didn't think he would make it long enough for me to get back to the vets so I could be with him while they put him to sleep, or fair to him to make him wait for me.
And now I am sitting here, in this suddenly empty house, with tears running down onto my keyboard, because I've just been able to write a whole post, without anyone walking over my keyboard, or butting at my hands until I remember that laps are for cats, not laptops, and move it so he can sit there.
 |
| Tybalt. 1998-2013 |
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Diana Wynne Jones
I woke up on Saturday morning to learn that Diana Wynne Jones had died.
I only ever met Diana once, when she appeared at the Bath Festival of Children's Literature in 2008, but she has been one of my favourite writers for over 20 years, and knowing ahe has gone leaves a little hole in my heart.
I remember when I first found her work. It was in 1988, and I came across 'The Lives of Christopher Chant' in my local library, and fell in love.
In the years that followed, I searched out everything she wrote. It wasn't always easy, as many of the books were out of print - it gave me a sense of triumph when I managed to track one down, but always mingled with baffled anger at the fact that these wonderful stories had been allowed to go out of print.
A few years ago I wrote to Diana, via her publisher, to tell her how much joy her work had given me, how much I loved the variety, and how much certain books had meant me. I was surprised and delighted to get a lovely, warm, personal letter back.
I was encouraged to attend my first Con by reading 'Deep Secret', which left me feeling that a con might be the kind of place I'd fit in (Although I have never, yet, met a centaur at one)
I know we have all known for some time that Diana was very ill, but hearing of her death still came as a shock.
I am so glad that she did get to see her books come back into print, and to see the 'Howl's Moving Castle'. I mourn the fact that she had to endure a horrible illness, that she had to go when she still had new, fresh stories unwritten.
My deepest sympathies are for her family and her friends, and I do hope that they will, now or soon, take some comfort from seeing how much she was loved and valued by so many of us who knew her only through her books.
I shall be re-reading my favorites this week.
Thank you again, Diana. Rest in Peace.
I only ever met Diana once, when she appeared at the Bath Festival of Children's Literature in 2008, but she has been one of my favourite writers for over 20 years, and knowing ahe has gone leaves a little hole in my heart.
I remember when I first found her work. It was in 1988, and I came across 'The Lives of Christopher Chant' in my local library, and fell in love.
In the years that followed, I searched out everything she wrote. It wasn't always easy, as many of the books were out of print - it gave me a sense of triumph when I managed to track one down, but always mingled with baffled anger at the fact that these wonderful stories had been allowed to go out of print.
A few years ago I wrote to Diana, via her publisher, to tell her how much joy her work had given me, how much I loved the variety, and how much certain books had meant me. I was surprised and delighted to get a lovely, warm, personal letter back.
I was encouraged to attend my first Con by reading 'Deep Secret', which left me feeling that a con might be the kind of place I'd fit in (Although I have never, yet, met a centaur at one)
I know we have all known for some time that Diana was very ill, but hearing of her death still came as a shock.
I am so glad that she did get to see her books come back into print, and to see the 'Howl's Moving Castle'. I mourn the fact that she had to endure a horrible illness, that she had to go when she still had new, fresh stories unwritten.
My deepest sympathies are for her family and her friends, and I do hope that they will, now or soon, take some comfort from seeing how much she was loved and valued by so many of us who knew her only through her books.
I shall be re-reading my favorites this week.
Thank you again, Diana. Rest in Peace.
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