Hello Everyone,
I'v been at my daughter's now for over ten weeks with still no hope in sight. I am working every hour I can fit into a day, seven days a week and it's still not enough. I went to view a property in Southborough last week, just a one bed flat, but it had a small patio garden AND they would accept my cats; I couldn't believe my luck. All was going well until the estate agent asked about my work. Yes I have a fulltime job; 36 hours a week, that's good the agent said, but its made up of 3 part time jobs, that could cause a problem, she said. You need to have a fulltime job by a single employer so we can reference you easily; needless to say I lost the flat.
Last Sunday I was at my lowest point ever. I'd missed out on the flat and my spirits were at rock bottom, I cried for three days. All I wanted was someone to talk to, but no one was listening, so I took all my tablets in a carrier bag to an unfamiliar graveyard and prepared to end it, but I was stopped by the affections of a small black and white cat.
As I sat there on the grass I knew my kids would be okay; both the girls have partners to look after them and I'm sure they could both keep an eye on my son, so no problems there, Opening the first box I looked at all the small, white tablets and began popping them out of their blister pack when a very loud miaow and a furry body began curling itself affectionately around me. I stroked it and then proceeded to pop out the pills but the cat was having none of it, it wanted attention and it wanted it now. It purred and rubbed itself against me, licking my hand and then climbed onto my lap.
It was then that I remembered my own two cats; who would look after them when I was gone? They would be alone; probably put to sleep. What was I thinking? How selfish was I being?
After a while I slid the tablets back into the box and continued to fuss the little cat with tears streaming down my face, whether it was coincidence or the cat knew, I don't know, but that cat, whoever it belonged to, saved my life that day.
