Ethel wakes earlier than I do. Her tiny miaows creep into my dreams, the noise teases me into wakefullness

I stir, stretch, yawn as the day begins. Kitten continues to scream, i think of ignoring her, but shame prods me, so, i stand slowly , gather the kitten, we descend the stairs, both thinking of what we can eat to kickstart the morning.

In the kitchen, she is deafening, fierce, strident. I fail in preparing breakfast speedily, efficiently. Her shriek starts nagging me.She is a tiny feline harpy.

I search, hopelessly for the tin opener , try and find a pristine bowl in the teetering stained pile of still dirty dishes, stacked in the overflowing sink.

Grab a fork, pierce deeply, fork the correct serving and carefully and promptly serve the kitten her breakfast.

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


Then it is the dogs’ time, he is silent, never barks but , still and insistent insistent, eyes catching mine, he believes that breakfast, his right, will arrive promptly, served in his bowl.

The kitten finishes hers , miaows, she stares, interested,, realizes the canine, her enemy,still has his meal, she sneaks, creeps , in predator style , nearer and nearer and reaches his dish. His defensive snarl means nothing,can be written as little matter.
She eats, face in his breakfast.


Kitten leaps, i let the kettle fall, dog stands, head down , expecting bad things.

Sixty seconds when time stands frozen and we are all still, petrified.

Then we begin the cycle again.

Kitten sneaks,canine snarls, I start.


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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