May 21, 2018

When I woke on Whitsunday I had wet the bed. I don’t remember ever having done that in my life– of course I must have back then, but that was before recollection. I went around all day feeling strange. Would my life change now? Had I reached a level of dotage where I would be doing that from now on? There was no warning, no premonition, just waking to the deed, which, told by temperature, must have been a while before.  I had gotten (on purpose) exceptionally drunk the night before, so perhaps I was too deep in sleep to have the looking-for-a-bathroom dream that often ends the night. I waited for another night to pass where I did not wet the bed to write about it, which I can do now without the note of despair. My confusion lay in the unusual condition of not being to explain the event at all.

In a related issue, Maud has taken to urinating in random places. I wondered why the smell was not eliminated by cleaning out the litter box. Had to take two rugs to Togar’s to be cleaned. Bought two more while I was there. It may be time to roll up the Oriental rugs until the cats have crossed the rainbow bridge. Will see if, thwarted in her adventures, Maud returns to the litter box.

The garden is incredibly beautiful. Sat late last night while a single thrush called and the red Whitsun roses faded into the dark.