She's back home, thank heaven, rather groggy, and preferring to lie quietly on her favourite rocking chair rather than racket around, but that's what she should be doing after such trauma.
Even the sound of plates being rattled doesn't interest her at the moment. All she wants is to be close to both of us. We've pulled the rocking chair close to the table and are taking turns at sitting where she can feel us next to her. DH is doing Sophy-shift at the moment, working on his laptop downstairs while I'm up here.
Isn't it awful when a pet has to be taken to the vet and be left behind there, and you go away, seeing those stricken eyes following you, feeling like a betrayer, almost a murderer? I got so worked up that I started imagining the worst scenario and how I would feel knowing I was the one who had deliberately chosen to bring her in? I tell you, I got a lot of pattern repeats done on Pomatomus today, not to mention the mini-gansey. Grimly concentrating.
I know, I know, I was not being entirely rational. Every time a pet has had to have this operation before, it was an emergency, and often touch-and-go as to whether they survived. This time I'm making sure that doesn't happen, right? Being sensible. But it was still a worrying day.
The other two girls were most concerned, searching for Sophy around the house all day, and rushing to greet her when she finally returned. However, once they'd sniffed her quickly, they realised she wanted to be left alone, and immediately went off into the garden, giving her some peace, which was nice of them. They're still giving her space.
Sophy thanks you all very much indeed for the good wishes. She says that when she was most frightened, she just thought of everyone's comments and they helped a lot. And a special message to Patches in Nevada: she'll show you her scar when it's all better.
I've said it before, but I'll say it again. You're a great gang.