We found Mick's hunting trophy this morning on the back porch next to the door, a beautiful, unlucky little goldfinch who became the latest victim of our killer cat whose cunning and stealth have only improved with age. I agree with Rebecca West who said, "Did St. Francis preach to the birds? Whatever for? If he really liked birds, he would have done better to preach to the cats." My mother never liked cats because for years she kept canaries. Had she found the dead finch, she would have scolded the "bad, bad kitty." I was rather amused to watch Mick do his little macho strut when he came in, and give the dogs a condescending "Hrmph! So what have you guys done to earn your keep?"
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Mike went to the fair this afternoon with two other "O-bees," then called to tell me he is spending the night in Terry at Ron's house. I've had a relaxing day, spent the morning at the gym with Pam and Jean, then came in, read for a while, went to the nail salon, went shopping for a short while, came back home and sat on the cool, but sunny back porch and painted, walked the dogs, and will probably turn in early tonight. This early fall weather is perfect for sleeping with the windows open, something I enjoy more when Mike is not here. Only trouble is the dogs pick up every single scent and sound if the windows aren't closed, and loudly alert me to what they must imagine is danger, or out of the ordinary, their way of earning their keep, I guess.
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He's having an echocardiogram and an MRI done next week as precautionary measures. He had a couple of middle-of-the-night fainting spells when he got up to go to the bathroom. I was able to get him up after the first collapse, then he fainted again in my arms. It was almost three weeks later at a regular check-up that he told our family physician about it.
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Of course, I had tried to persuade him to report it earlier, but he refused. I probably should call 911 for an ambulance if it happens again, but he was easily revived and refused to cooperate with any of my suggestions, except getting back in the bed. Sometimes I feel damned if I do, and damned if I don't, never knowing for sure if I've done the right thing. The doctor thought his blood pressure probably dropped low enough when he urinated to make him pass out, which is not all that uncommon with some people, even though it's never happened to Mike. His normal BP is on the low side of normal. It seemed to scare me more than it did him.