Ethel woke before the sun rose. A squeaky meep penetrates my sleep filled head, becoming the element that pushes me towards  wakefullness.

Huge stretch up, , my mouth opens a, yawn. The cat shouts, her eagerness to start the day. Wonder about whether to reject her need , but her screams of hunger  get the better of me, so, move slowly , scoop up the kitten, together we go down, both focused on food.

The  kitchen, she seems  louder, more angry. But the food does not appear, stuff  does not move fast enough, her catty words  becomes a scold, a screech.

Fumble for the tool to open her breakfast, feel her focus on me.  Try to find a clean bowl in the heap of grubby crockery.

Pull out the fork, plunge deep a midst the meat , serve the bowl  up to her.

She loses any focus  on  me, nose plunged  deep, teeth chew at food.


Then  the dogs’ turn, he, well-behaved, too gentlemanly to consider a bark or two,  but concentrated, eager,hungry, eyes locked on my face, sure  that food will come to those who deserve, those who are good dogs.

The cat has eaten every scrap on, but feels hungry , spluttering, face full,  she looks over towards the dog, engrossed amongst the regular joys of meat and bread , creeps towards the dog, the  food, moves closer to the  bowl, an angry  growl not heard, fool cat, she puts dogs’ breakfast all over her face.


A loud sound.

Cat  jumps, kettle drops, water splashes on floor, dog stops, head bowed, expects a slap, a shout.

Fora moment, no-body moves.

Then we start the cycle once more.

Cat  pounces, dog growls, human jumps.

Another day has started.

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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