Good Morning, Sunshine

Realising that clothes won't fix my insecurities

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Dead flowers will stay dead and growing new ones takes a lot of time and effort.
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I ate my breakfast because I was hungry but bread wasn't all I could taste. It appeared that Jaromir and I somehow shared our tastebuds too now. Therefore my bread tasted rather bloody.

I didn't even mind that.

When I was done eating I decided to wait for Jaromir to leave the bathroom. I wanted to take another shower and get redressed but I also didn't want any predatory instincts to arise within, making me lick blood off the floor or something.

And so the day went on, Jaromir left the bathroom which was impressively clean when i entered. He went for a nap (You know, I need more sleep than you do) and I went for a shower ("Well, I need more showers than you do" I lick myself clean on a daily basis...).

When finished with that there wasn't much to do so I joined Jaromir in bed. He looked really cute, all curled up, his paws placed over his snout and his tail tightly wrapped around his body.

I, unlike Jaromir, didn't sleep though. Not because I didn't feel like it but because I'd decided that I'd had enough sleep already.

This turned out to be a good decision for I wouldn't have gotten much sleeping done anyway. Just a few minutes after I'd heaved myself out of my wheelchair and onto my bed, there was a gentle knock at the door.

Why would someone knock?! That really didn't make sense. I could not open that door.

I looked down at Jaromir but he hadn't moved a muscle. Strange for a cat. They normally were on their feet within seconds if the quietest of noises was made.

I checked if Jaromir was still breathing.

Yes, he was. Thank the lord.

The person on the other side of the door had apparently realised that I wasn't going to open it for them because they let themselves in.

It was a young man, maybe thirty years of age, with short, black hair. He was rather tall, maybe 1.90 m and wearing glasses behind which I could see anxious blue eyes which were fixed on the sleeping form of the tiger.

The man was wearing a white coat, white trousers and a white shirt underneath. And a stethoscope around his neck. He was also carrying a litte, suspicious looking suitcase. Everything about him screamed doctor and I didn't like that.

It was just that I had lost my trust in doctors a long time ago. Doctor for me meant 'Yeah, describe what's wrong with you I'll take literally 0 % of what you say seriously.' and due to me being overall rather nervous when someone tested me for anything, even if it was just my heartbeat it also meant 'Here, let me measure your heartbeat. Right, rather quick. You alright?'

I wasn't willing to cooperate, especially because I didn't see the need for a doctor. I wasn't sick or anything.

"Hello, Miss ..." , he began and he sounded so unbelievably fake friendly that I instantly interrupted him.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

He seemed at a loss for words for a few moments but then he seemed to recover.

"My name is Doctor Peach and I was send here to take blood samples of you and the tiger" , he explained.

Great. Needles. Not something I exactly adored.