psychotic freak

 A strange sense of weakness today, and the well known sense of things being pointless meet today and: 

stop movement.

Eat breakfast, solitary, as everyday. The cat is there, but she is solitary too, so therefore it hardly matters. Two eggs and two slices of toast, and butter. Perhaps the routine will change to porridge some time, but for now, it is eggs on toast.

And then there are the sons alarm sounds, one after the other. As a teenager, he does not want to get up, as a schoolboy he has to do so. But for whatever reason the presence of his father is upsetting him.

Get out of the way, and lie down on the couch until he has left the house. Fall asleep for a bit, the legs are weak and tired after the exercise of the last two days. The cat has been fed. The wife is still in bed.

Awake to see her peering in through the glazed part of the kitchen door, a scowl on her face as usual. She boasts that she never takes breakfast.

She just sits around listening to the radio and drinking coffee for hours.

And this is the truth.

The only sane being is the cat, and compared to a wild cat the animal is a complete psychotic freak.