At My Writing Table

Late afternoon. The hot day cools. I come outside to my back yard writing table, and the cats follow me out and settle themselves in their favourite spots. Levi goes and eats grass and throws up, with much body contortion. I'm glad this happens outside on the concrete, which I can hose down later. He positions himself on the doormat to have another go, but I whisk it out from under him and he chooses the dirt of the yard instead, where it soaks in and disappears. All organic, I tell myself, and biodegradable. Never mind the hose; I fetch a jug from inside and wash the mess on the concrete into the dirt as well. Freya decides to depart, wandering off around the side of the house. I expect she'll end up on the front doorstep, from where she likes to survey the street. (Later I find that she has gone through the cat-door instead, back inside.) I settle to my journalling finally, my water bottle beside me on the table, with my cordless landline phone as well as my mobile. I applied Rid before I came out, to keep me safe from mozzies and midges and other little bitey things. There should be no need to go back inside until I finish my writing. Levi is curled up peacefully now in a patch of late afternoon sunlight.