Mrs Cribbage's Diet

I have spent much of the weekend at the Cribbage house. Poor old Mrs Cribbage is very weak and unable to look after herself, so I put my quest for fame as a poet on hiatus and volunteered to help her with some day to day tasks. I took her sustained lack of response and movement as an eager acceptance of my offer, and set to work.

Pensioners these days do not receive enough allowance for fuel and heating, and dear Mrs Cribbage pays testament to this collective societal shame - she is absolutely freezing, and nothing I do will warm her. I made many cups of broth and even immersed her in a hot bath, but nothing would rouse her to warmth.

I cannot persuade her to eat which is a source of some concern - I would have previously thought the phrase "wasting away before my eyes" was more figurative, but in the case of Mrs Cribbage, she really seems to be withering and rotting away from lack of food. Her left leg entirely disappeared over Sunday night. I had no idea that weight loss worked like that. No wonder those Americans are so against the idea of losing weight! I should rather be plump than fester away and seep, which Mrs Cribbage's needless diet has caused.

She is clearly managing to feed her dog though, as the beast looks full and satiated once more.