like a machine

get up, wash. It is later today, and it is the weekend.
The cat is begging.
Give her food.
She eats the stuff from the tin like a machine, as if it is her job to empty the plate, not as if she just has hunger.

Make a coffee pot, for the mornings pleasure.
Talk to the son, he is playing some idiotic game on the computer, one that just goes on and on.
Criticise, get an angry comment. Remain calm, tell him to clear up his school books, this is the first thing that should be done. An angry comment is the result, and the statement that there is nowhere to move the things to

Walk through the flat, clear away glasses from the tables beside the television, clear the table.
Get the computer, put it on the table.


The cat jumps up on the window sill and vomits the freshly eaten food onto the window sill and behind the radiator.

Then it jumps down and commences vomiting on the floor.

Get a rag and a bucket and clean it up.
Tell the son, he follows the cat into the bedroom.
She is ill there too. He clears that up.

Was it the cat food, or was it the way it was eaten?
A disgusting start to the day.
In future, there will be less food on the plate.

Return to the computer, to read the news and to write these notes and drink the coffee made earlier.
Saturday, the day the second last day of the weekend.