I’m nodding a bit, sitting on the sofa, my mug of mint tea cooling just out of reach. MasterB is tucked beside me, and I don’t want to disturb him. Fortunately mint tea tastes alright cold. It’s quite nice to sit here quietly and type, to look over to the table at the new tulips vibrant in the vase, to feel MasterB’s fur against my arm and see his paws relaxed and proprietorial against the keyboard. Happy cat; happy human.
We had an early start, me and the boy, up at six thirty on a Sunday morning. It was my fault, I misread my watch and thought it was seven thirty. The world was quiet. No sirens racing up and down the nearby Walworth Road; no shouting; just birds singing. And blue skies when the forecast had been for clouds and rain.
He went out and I made coffee before joining him in the garden for a while. Later I had to go to work, but there was time to change bed linen, catch up on some reading, sort some books I have promised to a neighbour. It was lovely. I can see the advantage of a dawn start in summer. The trouble is some neighbours like to talk into the night in the gardens, their voices and laughter increasing in volume as the bottles empty. It makes sleep difficult.
At some point I shall probably trade centrality for tranquility. Denmark Hill would be nice, but I think it’s beyond my purse.
The rain came a short while ago; not much, but the skies darkened and some drops pattered on the windows. Tonight is Sunday, and as we do most Sundays, Octavia and I shall eat together around seven; exchange news and drink some of her good wine. Last time her mother was there. We sat in the garden to eat our meal. The Grey Ninja was in her element, swarming up her cat walk, lying on the wall to survey her domain, stalking something we could not see.
Every time I see her I am struck by how she is so much the cat of the house. It’s impossible to imagine her living anywhere else. She certainly landed on her paws when Octavia took her in and gave her a forever home and unconditional love.