The boy cat is walking around with two big patches of missing fur on his side. God knows what he got up to overnight. He doesn’t seem especially bothered by it. I can’t see them properly and am waiting for herself to get home to examine them while I drink an extra double-shot of espresso.
I have enough to do today that I had to reopen the daybook last night and write a to-do list for today.
I have now been told that my eyes are fucked and it’s two deep smears of crushed snail on his fur, so I’m getting an extra extra double shot out of the coffee machine
Children who grow up in the country know about death; they can, in a manner of speaking, see their own bones out the window, in the frugal garden plots.
THESE POSSIBLE LIVES, Fleur Jaeggy (UK) (US+)
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