Coping, Part the nth

Well, she couldn't manage the stairs. Himself partly blames the staff social worker and the nurse who accompanied her: from the start, he says, they kept insinuating to her she wouldn't be able to do it. I'm not too keen on them myself, as I sat with them afterwards for a while at the bottom of the stairs - they kept sweetly saying to her, "What beautiful hands you have! What long fingernails!" She's a retired sculptor/designer who always kept her nails short and practical. They just don't keep them trimmed.

So the new plan is to find Peggy a really good permanent nursing home, close to the neighbourhood, where the staff don't annoy her with their syrupy blather, if that's at all possible.

At least she got to see Carter - Himself managed to get him on a leash and downstairs - he took it with surprising calm - I think he was just too confused to protest. That coat will have to have all the cat hair brushed off tomorrow, though.

Himself is...trying to take it well. He's reasonably cheerful at the moment (we watched Millenium Actress this evening and are now confirmed Satoshi Kon fans), and I'll try and keep him diverted this week, between errands of nursing-home-investigation, metropass-replacement (his disappeared), etc.

Oh, and we'll try and be at Ad Astra on Saturday.