Poor Oliver! He frequently comes home limping. The good thing is that whatever
malady he incurs usually heals itself within a couple of days. Estimating when a
kitty would be better off with a visit to the vet can be a difficult judgment call.
I would be better off if I had become a veterinarian!
Tommy’s recent bout with hepatitis was caught early and, I am told, made
a rapid recovery possible. Tommy had just finished his course of antibiotics
when Oliver came home limping. I am so used to that by now. Maybe I was
extra wary because of Tommy’s illness. I examined Oliver right away. And
something just wasn’t right.
Oliver is a bit of a contortionist. Once I asked the vet if Oliver could possibly
be double jointed. He arranges himself beautifully in serpentine formations that
seem more than a little unnatural. The vet didn’t give me a clear answer.
Was Oliver’s front leg broken? It looked that way. Except Oliver did not seem
that disturbed by it. I took him to the vet.
The vet was puzzled. The fur on Oliver’s leg was shaved so the vet could get
a better look. There was enough movement at the joint which didn’t seem to
bother my lovey little leopard. So the vet’s best guess was that it wasn’t broken.
Was it a wound? That was more likely. So now Oliver has been on a course of
antibiotics. I don’t see much change in his leg though; part is still jutting out in
a precarious-looking way. The next step is to have x-rays taken.
There are comic book conventions a couple times a year. That’s what I gather; I’m
no expert. In fact, I’m not even much interested. I went to a comic book convention
anyway, despite the heat, despite a preference for some other activity. It was my
Dad who wanted to go, and I did not wish for him to go alone. I think it made his day.
On entering the giant hall I joked that we were not likely to see any Blythe
dolls there. He joked too, asking if there was a Blythe-from-outer-space doll.
And so we had our father/daughter outing, he examining the classics and me
trolling for ice cream.
I got to feeling glad that I’d agreed to go. My Dad’s health is very bad and his
life is not such that he is able to enjoy much leisure. This meant a lot to him.
We started heading in the direction of the doors to exit. I guess I stopped in
my tracks. My Dad wondered what on earth I found so enthralling, amidst
Darth Vadar figurines and such. He couldn’t imagine I’d be that mesmerized
by something there. And yet I was! Guess what I saw? Two Blythe dolls, in
their Blythe boxes, were perched amongst the miscellaneous gizmos. No way!
One was a tall box and that held an Ashton Drake Blythe. I was too dazed
to remember which one; I think it was Pinafore Purple. She looked enormous
compared with the other doll. Was the other doll a mini Blythe? I surmised
that it was. It didn’t seem right, although I had never put my Medieval Mood
and Hello Harvest boxes side by side. I am still new to the enchanting world
of Blythe dolls. But wait, a Natasha Moore mini-Blythe? Wait a minute…
The young fellow manning the booth explained that both Blythes were of similar
size, but that the boxes were quite different. (He also abashedly mentioned that
he knew more about Blythes than he ever dreamed he would). So that was Natasha
Moore! Without her overcoat and glasses she looked so different! And she looked so
petite next to Pinafore Purple, in their boxes anyway.
I had never seen Blythe dolls for sale in person. I never dreamed Natasha Moore
was so lovely! Her colorings were much more refined and subtle than the photos
I’d seen had captured.
My Dad said, “let’s get her!” I had to protest, but my protesting got me nowhere.
I suppose from a position of being spoiled rotten, they got me somewhere. My Dad
insisted, making light of my reasons against getting her, and he bought her for me.
I am still gasted with flabber. I mean, I am still flabbergasted! What a nice doll. What
an extremely nice Dad. He most certainly made my day. I’m calling her Giselle.
