Ethel wakes earlier than the sun.Her tiny meep creeps inside my dreams, pushes me against wakefullness

I sit up, stretch, my mouth gapes in daylight rites. Kitten continues to scream, i think ignoring her, but guilt pushes me upwards, so, i stand slowly , pick up the kitten, we descent the stairs, both thinking what we can eat .

In the kitchen, she is deafening, brutal, strident. I fail in preparing breakfast quickly enough, her shriek starts nagging me. A tiny furry bully.

I fumble, grab the device which frees the meal , try and find the pristine dish in the teetering grubby washing up basin.

Grab a fork, plunge it deep, piercing the heaped meat,, carefully and quickly serve the kitten her breakfast.

She turns away, little interest in me, face deep in the dish.


Then it is the canines’ turn, he is quiet, never fusses but , quietly insistent, eyes catch mine, he believes that breakfast, his due, will arrive in a dish.

The kitten finishes hers up, spluttering, she stares, interested,, realizes the canine, her enemy,still has his medal, she sneaks, creeps , in hunter style , nearer and nearer and reaches his dish. His defensive snarl means little,can be written as little matter.
She eats, face in his breakfast.


Kitten jumps, i let the kettle fall, dog still, expecting punishment.

A minute when time stands still and we are all still, petrified.

Then we begin the cycle again.

Kitten sneaks,canine snarls, I jump.

The day 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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