Eggs and toast, the small standard now for breakfast. The thought of an Irish bed and breakfast fry is frightening, the thought of grease in the air, catching the hair and the clothes. Porridge would be nice too, perhaps that would need looking in to. The cat has decided to visit the top flat today, inspecting everything, running her jawline over corners perhaps to analyse the scent gleaned therefrom, perhaps to leave a mark. Which of those two is she doing?. There is a sunbeam coming in over the carpet, and she settles there, to take car of her coat of fur.
The clock on the wall is ticking, a second by second reminder that time is fleeting by. soon it will be necessary to take the car and drive to buy things and to visit a friend in Munich.
The sun has gone and the cat is back. She is complaining now, her green eyes on her yellow furry face.
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