Quite a day.
The tax has been filed, calculated, paid. I'm still dubious about whether an accountant would help. Our affairs are pretty simple, and pretty similar year after year. The job has got to be done, whatever. The effort consists of getting the papers together and if I continue with my resolution to file everything the moment it arrives -- and enter it in a spreadsheet if it's anything the tax man wants to know about -- if I can go on doing that, it should be easier in the future. Here we are, three weeks into 2017, and I'm doing fine so far.
Perdita seems well. She has spent the day dozing, and no longer actively hates me. She took off her collar herself during the night -- I think I told you that she's not stupid. She's not particularly interested in the wound, and it continues to look fine. I'll certainly keep a close eye on both these points. Even Helen agreed this morning that we didn’t have to put the collar back on.
There are no visible stitches. I think you must be right, in our case, Maureen (comment yesterday). There are two incisions, each scarcely half an inch long, not quite parallel, about an inch and a quarter apart. The leaflet Perdita brought home yesterday says that the "sutures" are all internal, and absorbable. An adroit piece of needlework. I agree that if there were stitches for her to pick at, the question of the collar would be rather different. The leaflet says that the cat must not lick or chew the wound. So far she has shewn no interest in doing either of those things.
That could change. The wound could start to itch. I will watch closely.
So I’m back in the saddle, as far as Mrs Hunter of Unst is concerned, and have reached row 65 of the border pattern of her shawl. I fancy that the decreases are beginning to make themselves felt. But maybe not.
AND I have succeeded in finding a copy of Laine, at Meadow Yarn, and it’s on its way.
What can I say about the Inauguration without causing offense?
1) Mrs Trump’s dress was good. I hope tomorrow’s newspapers will name the designer.
2) Eight years ago, George W looked like a balloon with the air being let out. The Obamas, whose behaviour throughout has been graciousness personified, looked today as if a weight were being lifted from their shoulders. And George W., whose father is on his deathbed or so we understand, looked positively cheerful.
3) Poor Hillary.