fishing

Early and dark, the cat is fast asleep on the sofa. Make a cup of coffee, take the last slice of toast and take the computer, see if there is any news.
Nothing has changed since yesterday. There are speculations that Boris may drop the northern Irish politicians back into the obscurity that they cane from. But then, he is no better than they are. And the USA is wobbling about like a heavily armed drunken fool.

The cat is fast asleep, pat her on the head, she licks her paw and strokes it over her head. Trying to wash off the human attention and to go on sleeping.

It is dark still, and the coffee is bitter.
Tired now, go back to bed.

A few hours later wake again. Look at the news again, apart from messages in the mail, birthday greetings from insurance companies, there is nothing else

Get up, get dressed, ask the son if he would like to go to the café.
It is the only place to get his undivided attention.
Keep that business with the birthday silent.
It is like fishing for compliments.
Tempting, but unpleasant.