the cat has yellow eyes, and when the light is bright it has slit like irises. What is a cat's picture of the world?
The ginger brown, black, and white animal is lying at the end of the bed with a paw covering the feline eyes.
On the way to the bathroom, scratch it behind the ears.
One yellow eye opens. And closes again.
Now it is seven in the morning, time to get up, time to make a cup of coffee, time to write notes for the day, time to record the things that happen in the morning, would otherwise just be forgotten. This is not to say that they are worth remembering, they are just the start to the waking period that makes up the active part of the day.
The cat follows out into the kitchen, looks at the contents of the cat plate. A human might wrinkle the nose, cats noses are hidden by fur, wrinkles are invisible.
Charge up the coffee maker with ground coffee, do not turn on the grinder, do not wish to make noisc to wake up the son and the wife.
Press the button. let the machine hum.
Take the cup into the sitting room, laptop in one hand, cup of coffee in the other.
There is the teenage son, on the couch in the sitting room, fast asleep.
The cat goes over to the wide open window and looks out, neck fully extended, eyes and ears forward, looking out into the street, perhapps at a passers-by, perhaps at an ureachable bird flying by.
Both birds and pedestrians are to be heard.
Go to the window, look out.
There is a crashing sound from a closing door farther up the alley.
A woman in sports attire, trainers and black leggings, leaves a house, and approaches. She is carrying a rucksack on her back, and she has the unsteady, unshure gait of one who has just awoken from a deep sleep. She passes by, watched by the cat and the human from vantage of the first floor window.
She continues her unsteady gait, slightly limping.
She rounds the corner at the end of the street.
Heading for the police station.
Perhaps she is a police woman.
The cats yellow eyes just have black slits in them now.
The sun has risen further, the light has got much brighter.
The ginger brown, black, and white animal is lying at the end of the bed with a paw covering the feline eyes.
On the way to the bathroom, scratch it behind the ears.
One yellow eye opens. And closes again.
Now it is seven in the morning, time to get up, time to make a cup of coffee, time to write notes for the day, time to record the things that happen in the morning, would otherwise just be forgotten. This is not to say that they are worth remembering, they are just the start to the waking period that makes up the active part of the day.
The cat follows out into the kitchen, looks at the contents of the cat plate. A human might wrinkle the nose, cats noses are hidden by fur, wrinkles are invisible.
Charge up the coffee maker with ground coffee, do not turn on the grinder, do not wish to make noisc to wake up the son and the wife.
Press the button. let the machine hum.
Take the cup into the sitting room, laptop in one hand, cup of coffee in the other.
There is the teenage son, on the couch in the sitting room, fast asleep.
The cat goes over to the wide open window and looks out, neck fully extended, eyes and ears forward, looking out into the street, perhapps at a passers-by, perhaps at an ureachable bird flying by.
Both birds and pedestrians are to be heard.
Go to the window, look out.
There is a crashing sound from a closing door farther up the alley.
A woman in sports attire, trainers and black leggings, leaves a house, and approaches. She is carrying a rucksack on her back, and she has the unsteady, unshure gait of one who has just awoken from a deep sleep. She passes by, watched by the cat and the human from vantage of the first floor window.
She continues her unsteady gait, slightly limping.
She rounds the corner at the end of the street.
Heading for the police station.
Perhaps she is a police woman.
The cats yellow eyes just have black slits in them now.
The sun has risen further, the light has got much brighter.
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