The cat's leg, my skirt and a vacuum cleaner.

You'll be pleased to know that the final instalment of The Saga of Tess's Extortionately Expensive Leg can I hope now been written.
The ten days was up and the stitches had to come out. After much prevarication we eventually wrapped her in a towel whilst bringing to mind other cats we know. Thinking that this would be akin to fifteen rounds with the lions of Longleat crossed with the Beast of Bodmin we had first fortified ourselves with a large cafetiere of coffee.It was thus a pleasant surprise to find that Tess lay as meek as a lamb and purred contentedly while I snipped and slipped out eight stitches. We'd set up like Emergency Ward 10 (remember that?) and it all came back to me in a flash.
Cut between the knot and the skin so you don't pull the external bit of stitch through the wound and increase risk of infection, remove alternate stitches in case of gaping wound and hey presto it was done and off she went. We divested the kitchen of the cage, the nice soft plump convalescent pillow and litter tray, turfed Tess out in the garden and, thanks to a week of bright sunny weather and an abundance of baby rabbits, all cats have taken to fetching take-aways and sunbathing outside again and all memories of a strange unfeline week are erased.
That would have been the only significant event of the week had I not awarded myself a very rare errand day in town and caught up on all those tasks that have been waiting. I usually leave all this to Bookhound because when you've worked as I have in and around the town for so long you know 99.9% of the people and it can take forever to walk 20 yards.
We have been blessed with our very own branch of Fat Face which is, to those not in the know, a nice clothing shop for Bright Young Things where it is even possible to occasionally find something for a Woman of a Certain Age. In amongst the slouchy umbilical-revealing baggy trousers and the skinny wafer thin jumpers and those smocky-style tops (I just can't bear to go back to 1973) I had found a very nice skirt before Christmas. Warm, weighty, lined fabric, nice length and style and one of the metal press stud fasteners holding the belt in place fell off about the third time I wore it.
I was aggrieved and have spent an age trying to hammer it back on, press it back on, wish it back on, anything to keep the skirt because I love it. To no avail and finally I took it back to the shop for a refund this week.
Nice young girl who quickly assumed the mantle of Spanish Inquisitor, fixed gaze, direct eye contact and quizzed me fiercely on how exactly I'd washed the skirt because I must have been a bit harsh on it.
At this point I'm wracking my brains and wishing I had X ray eyes to see the label.
Did it say Hand Wash Only?
No surely not, I always check and never buy anything that says something so stupid.
No, it's only been washed once, then I take a calculated risk and add on a 30 degree wool wash - slow spin - wouldn't dream of tumble-drying it, all to be on the safe side.
More close examination,
Honestly, I love the skirt and I've tried to mend it but I can't.
More close examination.
I'll have to go and speak to my manager (disappears through doors...reappears)
Do you have a receipt?
Aha, here we go, no not on me.
In that case you'll have to choose something else.
There's nothing I want so I'd really like a refund.
I'll have to go and speak to my manager ( disappears through doors, reappears and has long conversation with boyfriend who has called in with a cup of coffee)
No we can't do that without a receipt, you can have gift vouchers.
Well I'd really prefer a refund, plus... time to bring on that old chestnut...the goods are not of merchantable quality.
I'll have to go and speak to my manager (disappears through doors...reappears)
She says if you had gift vouchers you could give them to all your friends as presents.
I'd love to be a fly on the wall at Fat Face staff training in Conflict Resolution.
Eventually I ring Bookhound back at Mission Control to check bank statements to prove I didn't buy the skirt in the sale and am therefore not trying to diddle the shop out of money. He goes one step better and miraculously finds the receipt in what is usefully termed the Receipt Drawer but actually resembles a very disorganised and overfull paper recycling depot. That's no good over the phone, so the skirt refund will be resolved next trip into town.
Then feeling completely flushed with inefficiency and smarting at allegations of harsh treatment of my clothes with added hints of dishonesty, I settle for a simple task and head off to get more bags for the vacuum cleaner.
Well, which sort do you want, we have 343 different types in stock.
I start trying to recognise it from the pictures on the bags and give up after five, clearly I haven't used it in a while.
Once again I ring Bookhound, can you go and look at the cleaner and tell me which make and model it is. I'm quite relieved that he does actually have to go and look and doesn't just recite it to me there and then, that would have been too much to bear.