A View From My Window

 A quarter to eight in the morning.....

Pale blue sky, pink clouds

The moon in its last quarter

Silver

Very high up a pink plane trailing pink vapour

Very low down, on what was once marshland- and still is underneath- a thread of mist lying below the house tops

O Cat!

 The cat is an old, old man- older than I am to judge by his behaviour.

He shouts a lot. I think the caterwauling translates as "Where am I? Where are you?" 

Perhaps even, "Who am I?" Who are you?"

And, of course, "Isn't it teatime yet?"- because, although he grows lighter and bonier, he hasn't lost his appetite.

He hangs close. And you can hardly move around the house without falling over him. You think he's asleep on one of his cushions and you step out regardless and find you've trodden on one of his paws because he's somehow materialised right in front of you and you go "O, cat!"