The meeting at the gallery, a tirade on opinionated politics in an Italian restaurant, and why is it all boring. Walk to the shops, and buy the wrong cat food, it is the sloppy kind which is awkward to manoeuvre onto the cats plate.
Upon leaving the shop, the automatic tills have too many people at them, so a woman comes along and opens one manually. This is faster.
At home, there is stiffness, pain and tinnitus.
The cat makes noises in the passageway, it wants to enter. Open the door, the cat makes its "I am entering the room" sound, and walks in. She rubs her back against the human legs and then against a corner in the wall.
Give her some food, the sloppy kind. She eats it with enormous enthusiasm. That is interesting, perhaps it is just the change.
Now tiredness is back, and a sense of not really caring about anything.
It is five in the evening, the cat is on the couch, sleeping to the sound of jazz from Australia, from ABC radio.
It is time to take another rest.
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