The Teenager

When I went to bed last night, MasterB, upside down on the sofa, didn’t stir. I heard him eating biscuits some time in the night, a small mew, and the soft sound of the drawer under the bed being opened as he climbed in.
I overslept and had to bustle about to get out on time. No sign of MasterB. Had I been in less of a rush I’d have peered into the drawer to check he was alright.
Off I went, glancing up at the bedroom window from the garden, half expecting to see him there watching me go. The window was empty.
I came back soon after midday. He was still asleep. I had hung my coat up and called his name a couple of times before he appeared yawning and stretching, his fur all rumpled. He has had three hours in the garden, a late breakfast, let’s call it brunch, and now is fast asleep again. I have a teenaged cat.

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27 thoughts on “The Teenager

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