1. The world is white when we go to sleep but grey with mist when we wake up. Even on the dullest day though – when the tree line and the ends of the fields are all but invisible – the walk to the post office never fails to cheer me up.
2. I rest my head on Carla’s head, my eye socket accommodating the curve of her skull. Her fur is so soft against my cheek as we breathe together.
3. The moment we realise we’re wearing the same cardigan.
1. Sometimes, usually in the late evening, Carla decides that the metal and plastic thing on my knee has had enough attention and now it’s her turn. She sticks her claws in my sleeve, pulls my hand towards her then deposits the hand on her own head. If the hand strays back to the laptop, she repeats until she is sated.
1. My fingers smell of old, dried glue.
2. A circle of matte green-grey shoots have appeared in the garden. Only time will tell what they’ll be.
3. As I leave the theatre, a woman is holding a fake hand prop in her arms like a sleeping baby.
4. Carbon spot it first: a fox running down the road outside our house – the first we’ve seen here. We watch it until it disappears back into the woods.
5. The cats decide that 10pm on a chilly January evening is the ideal time to explore the front of the house. Carbon runs a beat across the empty recycling bins then climbs a tree; Carla explores the street and the gardens across the road; and Boron, manic-eyed Boron, celebrates every new outside discovery by racing back into the house to check everything’s alright in there. I stand under the street light and watch it all.
1. I finish an unpleasant task a lot quicker than I expect which means I have time for a walk with the cats in the woods. They bounce and chase through the decaying leaves then follow me home.
2. I learn about herbs from one book and wild foods from the other. I can’t wait for Spring to kick in.
3. The new brushed cotton sheet is taut and heavenly.
1. The toast is evenly brown and perfectly crisp. The pate is strongly flavoured but delicious, and stirs in me the desire to make my own. I add it onto my “things to make” list.
2. Throughout the day, all the cats visit me at my desk. They sit on my knee between my body and the table, and purr as I stroke their soft-soft chests while I work.
3. The water plunks when it hits the growing body of water in the cup but plinks! (with an exclamation mark) when it hits the edge.
4. Katherine and I watch dogs parading (in Best in Show) and eat Jaffa cakes, while Joe murmurs over the baby monitor.
Felt awful again this morning but starting to feel more human again now. Just in time for Monday and work. Two weekends in a row lost to Team Peach illness now, boo.
1) After a day of health-promoting rest, I have a long soak in the bath. I find myself thinking about what herbs and vegetables I’d like to grow around the garden and house next year. We’ll still be limited by sunlight to some degree but not as much as before. The possibilities are exciting.
2) Carla stays at my side for most of my time in the bath and as I’m just about to get out, she moves from her safe, comfortable spot on the steps to the side of the bath itself. Her tail is looped around her side and starts aloft, but gradually drops down until it’s skimming the water – then suddenly, completely submerged. I don’t say anything because I think it will be funny for her to get a wet tail but the joke is on me – as soon as she notices, she flicks it upright – showering me in the face with all the absorbed water. I laugh and wonder if cats have enough planning capability for practical jokes.
3) Chilled by winter, water fresh from the tap is the perfect temperature for soothing a still raw throat.
© 2024 Louisa Parry