In her Sassy Seventies!

"Houston, we have a problem." Hilary, aka Hilaria said to her husband. He was snoring again. Senior lifehacks #101 had led her to this. How had it all happened?

Hilaria had made it! Now she was officially old, if not elderly. Hilaria had turned seventy years old, a grand old age. It was the morning after her family celebration, a good gathering. Bit bleary, Hilaria wiped down the mirror, doing housework to tidy up.

Hilaria paused for a moment at her reflection. Her grey hair matched her eyes and her top. "If housework keeps us slim, what I am doing here in the flabs?" she wondered. Job done, time for a rest is best after a late night. She sat down in her armchair.

Old Ben, her husband, was awake again, staring at his hobby of television. His useless football team were on the losing replay session. Ben got a bit tired and emotional when his team were attempting to play football. Hilaria settled in for her usual craft time, hands were for charity.

Hilaria made lots of woolens for homeless youth and underprivileged folk in refuges around the Big City. Being a good girl, if a bit old now, she had a basic philosophy for being kind and smiling. She thought it was cool to be kind to unkind people.

After all these years, Hilaria was used to Ben in football season. Grandpa Grumpy, as he was affectionately termed by their adult sprogs and grandchildren. Unfortunately, they had all been infected with supporting such a team of wannabes, so they usually spent this wintry time of year as far overseas as they could get.

A tropical resort with no media sounded good to Hilaria, where she could drown her mobile phone and the television. Old Ben swore again, saying, "How can I ever get over this? That was our free kick, umpire!"

All perfectly typical for Hilaria's winter delights. Despite their vegetarian food regime, she slid some chocolate at Ben. Chocolate was so pleasing, sort of melted in the mouth, quite healing for football tragics.

Still, all was normal for this time of year. Hilaria wondered why males appeared to menstruate, taking a leather sphere on a field of mud so seriously. Maybe it was time for a change, take on something new. Her lotto money she had won was still holding good. Ben and Hilaria had bought the Red Ferrari, not quite a typical boomer eco-friendly car, but heaps of silver fun for this sassy seventy year old.

Hilaria turned on her laptop. Some of her silver friends in her circle of church acquaintances now had designer pets, cute, white and fluffy. Yes, a pet. While she was ordering another supply of wool for her craft projects, she browsed. A feline might be the thing she needed, a lap cat! Hilaria fancied that.

There! A white chinchilla cat, two years old, named Queenie, free to good home. Hilaria showed its picture to old Ben, saying, "Look, here is our new pet! What do you think?" "Whatever," Ben did not take any notice of Hilaria much. "You'll have to feed it."

Hilaria set off to collect her new pet. She could envisage pet cuddles, pet treats, pet toys, yes, cute pet collars. Yes, a stop off at the pet store was definitely indicated. She would love her designer cat so much, cute and fluffy.

Queenie's owner seemed very glad to hand over her adorable fur munchkin to Hilaria. Queenie was in a pet container, so Hilaria brought her home. Time to make Queenie's acquaintance. She was an impressive unit, gazing at her new home and family.

A knock on the door! Ah, it was only a courier with yesterday's wool order. Surly old Ben looked up from his misery, and said as usual, "Not more wool!" "There was a wool sale." Hilaria had to defend herself. She tried to pat Queenie, pick her up for a cuddle, but the feline stalked off. The new pet, as well as being cute and fluffy, was also a shredding machine. Queenie started clawing Ben's beloved couch.

Ben did even notice. By now, on losing replay time, his team was so far behind. Hilaria was used to supporting Ben's crud footballers. They had no goals, did not believe goals existed, and saw no reason to annoy the scorer. They held their place as proudly dysfunctional.

Hilaria then went to pick up Queenie, to divert her from her shredding. Queenie made a certain yowling sound, and raced away. She showed great energy and ran across the mantelpiece, knocking off and smashing some once favorite china ornaments. Gone, cactus.

Ben barely noticed. "You wanted a pet." That was all he said. Hilaria showed Queenie where her litter tray was for toileting. Queenie, in another reincarnation, had been a queen of Egypt, like most cats. The cat had her own underwhelming opinions of Hilaria's sassy seventies years ahead. Soon, cat litter and long white cat hair was scattered through the old family home.

Hilaria sat down again, after a session with the vacuuming. Again. Her bad back was aching, her joints were throbbing. She picked up her craft project. Queenie started shredding the wool stash, and coughing at the same time. "Oh, no! I'll have to take her to the vet." Old Ben just grunted, he was 'into' another football replay. For a mature male, he could be quite infantile in winter.

Hilaria caught hold of Queenie, and headed to the vet with a protesting fur gal making more quite scary yowling noises. Suddenly, Queenie escaped from her cat container, not a happy traveler. The kitty tried to settle under the brake pedal in the wheels. Hilaria found herself at the side of the road, grappling with her cute fluffy pet.

Somehow, the sassy seventy year old made to the appointment with a lovely young lady vet. "Fur balls!' was the diagnosis. The vet continued, "You will need to give her these tablets twice a day for ten days." Hilaria and Queenie eyed each other very doubtfully. "Here, like this!" The young lady vet did a maneuver on Queenie, who looked furious as she swallowed her tablet.

After spending perfectly good wool funds on this vial of tablets, Hilaria took Queenie's huff home again. It was winter, it was raining, her husband was sullen and morose. Hilaria was thinking about an early night, as she served up dinner. What was worse than this? She had to give Queenie her next tablet.

Hilaria copied the vet's competence. But Queenie ripped her owner's t-shirt and arms, and escaped through the cat door, into the dark an rain. Hilaria was left holding the despised tablet, wondering if she needed a tetanus shot. She totally needed a new top, shredded. Who said pet ownership was easy, let alone the answer to her lifestyle changes?

Still, Hilaria picked up her torch, and headed to the great back yard. Finding her kitty was really hard, it was like a catscan, wandering around in the rain, getting saturated. She did locate Queenie, hiding in a tree, hissing at her. Hilaria put on her big girl booties, and retrieved her cat, and took her inside. There she wrapped her in a towel, and made her take her tablet.

Queenie glared and swiped, then ran behind Ben's couch. She made good vomiting noises, with a few coughs. Hilaria peeked at the designer cat from hell, or was it Egypt? There behind the couch lay some fur balls and the tablet. How could she clean that? Ben finally smiled for once per winter." What goes behind the couch stays behind the couch!" Then he went back to sleep.

"Good advice." Hilaria smiled at unkind Queenie and Ben, saying, "Houston, we've got more than problems here." She headed off to bed. She said a little devotion of good intentions, that this would all come good in the morning. This was now her sassy seventies, who cared what a cat thought? She opened her laptop again, she needed retail therapy. Her patron saint of wool sales smiled kindly at her.

Old Ben came to bed. The loving couple left Queenie to her own devices, still behind the couch. "Don't tell me you bought more wool again?" he demanded. "It's for my church craft group," Hilaria responded. "You old hens should start your own religion." My, her husband was a grump in winter. "Good idea, I shall call it Yarn Anonymous! We can take a pledge. I must confess and say, we bought more wool today!" Ben snored, Hilaria was cruising into her designer seventies, a female pastor of yarn! These were her sassy years.....But maybe Queenie had other ideas!