Something lighter for the holiday weekend, after so depressing a previous post, the implications of which will need to be long considered. Not so this, but it has been fairly long considered anyway, because it was in October 2018 that I posted some general news and Dame Eleanor Hull, one of the blog’s most enduring followers (thankyou madam) observed that I had, deep in the post after recounting all my academic activities, said:
“The thing that is obviously missing from this, of course, is much sign that I was doing research of my own, and in truth, I was struggling with that. Some of this was just life, changing the boiler in the new house (which, of course, broke down less than a week after we’d moved in), settling in two new cats, learning a new commute—pretty much every journey in Leeds needs you to start down one hill and climb another, or else the reverse—and generally working out the new routines of life.”
“Settling in two new cats”–moar cat pix pls kthxbai.”
And I provided one link and promised I would otherwise make amends, and then didn’t. Till now.
Now, given that I have before now removed people from my blogroll for having too many pictures of their pets, I’m conscious there’s a slippery slope before me at this point, but equally I can’t refuse Dame Eleanor, even if I can apparently fail to answer for three-and-a-half years. So this will be a gallery post and not fur up the front page, but for those that care about such things, I can provide both an update on the photographic state of Miro, already featured but now rather more grown up, at least in body…
and also introduce to the blog the elder feline citizen of my home working environment, Hildy, who has so far escaped mention here by name.
Hildy was a rescue cat, whom we searched out to be company for a new kitten we’d then been promised, who was unfortunately the one whose death on the roads I mentioned in 2016. But by then we had Hildy, and we wound up getting Miro to keep her company. Hildy came to us from Carlisle, where she had been living under a car and was then taken in by the Blue Cross, and she was so named when we got her. But Hildy is a name that a household of two medievalists can work with, obviously. She is somewhere between 12 and 16, probably, and has taken well to the home life again, for the most part…
But she does have clear and eloquently expressed views on the complete and obvious irrelevance of whatever I might be doing that looks like work.
And really, there are days I feel the same way. Now, when I realised this post was coming up in the drafts folder, I was very afraid that I’d left it too late and it would have to be posted in memoriam, because she had at that point just undergone surgery for a still-mostly-unexplained swelling that might have been, but probably wasn’t, cancerous. She was not doing at all well in recovery and we were very afraid of losing her. Obviously that day will some time come, but I’m glad to say that she has rallied and is now pretty much her cunning, podgy entitled self once more and has even escaped the cone of shame that was needed to stop her trying to wash out her own stitches.
Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, and Dame Eleanor in particular: my cats. I promise this will not become a regular feature…