The cat jumped from his spot on the settee, he landed on the floor
with more poise than grace and stretched each limb languidly in turn. He
dismissed the clatter of the milk tray being placed on the tile floor in the
next room and leapt up to the window sill, much preferring to sit a while than to
eat his breakfast. What a busy existence he thought, as he lazily watched from
his perch.
The mothers too frantic, with cooking and cleaning and untamed
children, to even sit down. The husbands hard at work, don’t even have time to
drink some tea. The feline turned his attention to the butchers shop across the
road, it was just opening up; the smell of many fine meats met his nose in the
air. His heaven was invaded by another scent, the sickly odor of sugar, of
apples and pastry and cream all in one, an apple pie delivered to his owner
from the lady next door once more this week. She obviously likes his
human companion, why couldn't he see? That the woman was sweet on him? It puzzled the cat something bitter, but he was not one to dwell on the problems
of others so selflessly. So he let the issue pass free. He laid down on the
wooden ledge and continued to gaze at the bustling town.
He yawned widely, most
comfortably, maybe he should have a nap, for an hour; maybe three.