Now that the rain seems to have mostly dried up Dolly and I are getting our joyful evenings back. An hour or so in front of the TV, me flopped on the floor cushion with my back against the sofa, and Dolly on the sofa almost but not quite snuggled up against my shoulder. We both of us like a good laugh, like we get from Teachers, and running a very close second, a bit of a weep, like from The Waltons.
Then we toddle out to stand on the back step, listening to the night birds making their strange music. Once the perishin’ peacocks have finished, that is. Nothing much you can say about the howling of peacocks if you’re not into horror movies. And we don’t really do horror movies, not Dolly and me.
After a while, as the temperature drops, we come back inside, together, as if we were synchronised figures on a nice old clock. Dolly first, because she’s more agile at the turning game, and me closely following. She toddles off to think about it, I wonder if a nice late dinner might be in order.
It’s an odd relationship, a man and his cat.
