Ethel woke before the sun rose.  Her tiny voice enters my night-time visions, becoming the element which pushes me into consciousness.

I sit up, stretch, my mouth opens in morning rites. Kitten continues to shout, i consider ignoring her, but guilt gets the better of me, so, i move slowly , scoop up the kitten, together we go down, both focused on food.

In the kitchen, she is louder, more strident. I do not move quickly enough, her voice becomes scolding.

I fumble for the tin opener, try to find the pristine bowl in the pile of grubby crockery.

Pull out the fork, plunge it into the food, serve it up to her.

She loses interest in me, nose deep into the dish.


Then it is the dogs’ turn, he is too polite to consider fussing, quietly insistent, eyes locked on mine, confident that food will come to him.

The kitten finishes hers up, spluttering, she looks in interest, notices the dog, his food, moves closer to his bowl, his defensive growl ignored, discounted, she puts her mouth directly into the bowl.


Kitten jumps, i drop the kettle, dog stops, expecting punishment.

For the moment, no-body moves.

Then we begin the cycle once more.

Kitten pounces, dog growls, I jump.

The morning begins




About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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