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.



27 thoughts on “The Teenager

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s