Blog Posts · Prose · Stories

A Plain Digestive Day

He is waiting for me when I open the front door. Well, when I say waiting, what I really mean is, he is slumped on the sofa, and happens to turn his head when he hears the door slam behind me.

“Yes? Can I help you?” He looks away without a word and comfies himself back into the good sofa. I sigh. Lazy git.

I chuck a few shopping bags in then head back to the car for the rest. He just sits there, ignoring my struggle. Finally, all the bags are in the house, I’m tired and grumpy and sweaty. It’s weirdly hot outside. I haul off my shoes and gather up the bags to take through to the kitchen. He doesn’t even look up. I bet he’s been inside the whole day doing sod all as well.

“Fine. You just sit there. Don’t mind me.” Still nothing.

I get to the kitchen and start to unload everything. There were a group of kids bag packing at Asda so who knows where everything has ended up. Something I definitely could have done without today. At least the eggs have made it unscathed, I guess.

Just as I am searching for the cheese, he comes flouncing though, yawning so wide I can count his teeth.

“Coming to help are we? Is naptime over?” I say, sarcasm oozing through.

No reply. He just brushes past me and begins hunting through the bags. No help whatsoever. Shooing him out, I finish the unpacking and bundle up all the carrier bags and put them in the cupboard.

Switching the kettle on, I mutter through to him, “You wantin’ anything then?”

Again, no answer.

I grab a mug from the cupboard above and fling in a teabag, letting the cupboard door slam shut. I could really do with a biscuit actually. Rummaging in the back of another cupboard I find the tin. There’s only one left. And it’s a plain digestive. Typical, I’ve just been to the shops. Today was really a day where an Oreo would have been much more welcome but it was just that sort of day.

As I go over to the fridge and get the milk out, guess who’s back. He has this knack of being able to ignore me, while still being able to hear the sound of the fridge door opening from a mile off – funny that.

“Oh so you do want something do you?” He stares up at me in that adorable way of his. Obviously, I crumble. How could anyone resist that look? I grin at him as he makes his way round the fridge door so we’re both peering in.

“Well? What shall it be, good sir?” I ask him, putting on this ridiculously exaggerated posh accent and faking a little bow. “Last night’s leftover chicken, perhaps?”

He looks up, his nose twitching away, and meows back at me.


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