hoping for food and attention

there is time to awaken today, the sky is bright, there is light in the window and blue between the white altocumulus clouds. That part of the sky visible in the crack between the buildings.

Hear the radio part of the son's alarm sound, distorted voices unintelligible amid the hiss and crackle of aerial-free reception.

Put on the socks and the underpants, the trousers too.
Go to the loo.

Return to the kitchen, the son is up now, sleepy, a red headed mop, his hair tendril-like in it's current uncombed state. He is still in his sleeping clothes.
The cat is there, at the feet, looking up, hoping for food and attention. The son bends down to scratch it's head.

Some minutes later on he has a big bottle of kitchen alcohol in his hand, attempting to disinfect a small wound on his hands. This was left over from the games played with the cat last night.

But today the cat is not playful, she is purring for attention.
The son packs his bags, then help him to comb his long hair.
He protests, it has a birds nest type tangle at the back, his father's clumsiness has pulled his hair.
Sore.

And then make a coffee and a toast.
in the kitchen
Short breakfast.

And when he has gone to school, take the antibiotics
as the doctor ordered.
Today and tomorrow.
Then the course will be finished.

And on Monday, back to work.