It is only a quarter past eight in the morning

sleep into the day, continue.

The flat is not tidied, give up. The cat is on the floor, eager to play. Stroke it , she rolls onto her back, presents her tummy and her claws. A strange game, she wants to scratch and tear. She does not realise that  this game is no game for humans. What does a cat realise anyway?

Make a can of coffee, listen to the hiss in the right ear, a steady sound, uncomfortable, but not painful or anything.

The son has been up for some time, but he has gone back to bed again.

Day grey, and the rest and recovery from the week has not taken place fully yet.

The cat is playing with a newspaper now, searching for things assumed to be underneath the white sheet of paper on the floor.

There is nothing there.

She plays with a bobbin of thread instead, throwing it into the air and catching it with her paws, or 

kicking it across the floor and giving chase, or lying in wait and suddenly pouncing onto it.

If it were a mouse it would be in serious trouble, but it is not.

The son has put deep frozen bread rolls into the oven, for breakfast. 

Sunday morning family breakfast is important to him.

The wife is still asleep.

It is only a quarter past eight in the morning

The hot air oven makes a grumbling, a rumbling noise.

Early for a weekend.

A grey day, cold, tempting to just wait for the end of winter and the start of summer. Just to destroy the time untill summer is here again.

But do remember, we do not have eternity. What would we do with it if we did?

would ww be able to waste eternity?