I stayed at the conference hotel. The lobby was spacious and the receptionist welcoming. I started to feel a little better. The room, however, was no more than adequate, and my low mood was not lifted by the dingy lights and the rather uncomfortable chairs. However, a glass of wine soon put things in a more cheerful light. I watched a little television (not that there was anything interesting on - I ended up watching endless re-runs of the news) then went to bed.
Now, clearly, I had not brought Molly Cat with me. When I left home, she was curled up on the sofa in the study. I had fed her, and made arrangements for somebody to go in this morning to feed her again. She would be fine, I told myself. Huh! I tossed and turned through the night. Every hour or so I woke up, dreaming that I could hear her crying. I had visions of her entangled in her toys. Why had I not put them all away? I thought of her choking on a large piece of food. Had I mashed it enough? You get the idea. I was wide awake at 6, unable to sleep again. At 7.30, I texted the person who had promised to go in to feed her at 7.
Answer came there none. I panicked. What to do? Who could I call? With difficulty I calmed myself, told myself I was being ridiculous. I waited till 8.30, then rang. There was no reply. The panic, this time, was all-consuming. With great difficulty I restrained myself from rushing to Waverley station. The most likely explanation was that she had left her phone at home, a not uncommon occurrence.
A text finally came in at 9.30. Molly was fine. Playing with her toys. Relief washed over me, although I rather think that the promise to be there by seven had not been kept. Now I am on my way home and will be with her soon. But I clearly have a problem: I may never be able to have a holiday again! Molly, what have you done to me?!
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