I woke up early today.  Padding around quietly I try not to wake my housemate.  She’s always grumpy when she doesn’t get enough sleep.  I wander over to the window and stare out at the world for a while.  We live near the river, on a quiet side street.  There’s not much going on.  A lone cyclist pedals quickly by, his breath misting.  A man is walking his dog.  I look on disdainfully as he stops to clean up the dog’s mess.  I’ve never been much of a dog person.

My housemate’s alarm goes off.  She works in the City, and leaves early every day.  I don’t think she enjoys it.  It always takes her ages to get out of bed.  I call to her, to remind her not to ignore the alarm.

“Alright, George, I’m up, I’m up.”

A few minutes later she stumbles into the living room, mostly dressed.  Her hair is slighly mussed and I itch to play with it.  I know she won’t appreciate it though.

“Morning, Sunshine,” she says, yawning.  I don’t reply.  She’s not listening anyway.  I go with her into the kitchen and we have breakfast together.  Toast crumbs everywhere.  She sweeps them off the bench into her hand and throws them in the sink.  I look at the few that made it to the floor.  I’ll have to clean later.

“Right,” she says, “I’m off.  I’ll see you tonight.”  She puts on her coat.  Picks up her briefcase and keys, and leaves.  She’s mostly ignored me, but that’s ok.  She’s not much fun in the mornings.

I stretch, and go back to the window.  I like to think, and the window is as good a place as any. We have deep window sills, with a radiator underneath.  It is a warm place to sit.

Soon it will be time to go out.  But for now I look into the quiet street.  There are more people moving around now.  People like my housemate, smartly dressed, moving quickly towards the train station.  Going to the City.  None of them look happy.  I wonder what it is they do there, that makes them all so tired.  My housemate tried to explain it to me once.

The street empties.  One last man hurries past, looking anxiously at his watch, wondering if he will make his train.  The postman is making his way slowly along, pausing at front doors.

I jump gracefully from the window sill.  It is time to go to work.  I work security in the local warehouse district.  I spend my days patroling the area to make sure no undesirables get in.  It’s a good job.  No-one seems to mind if I have a nap in the afternoon sun.

Leaving the house, I make my way down the street.  Old Mrs Vanya is in the garden, weeding.  I stop to greet her.  She smiles at me and tells me about her flowers.  I sniff at them, and she bats me away, protective.

I move on.

The first warehouse on my round is storing clothes.  I stop in at the guard house to see who is on today.  It’s John, and I move on quickly.  John doesn’t like me much.  That’s ok, I don’t like him much either.

I slip into the warehouse through the open loading bay.  I’m not supposed to, but the door is round the other side, and it’s probably not been unlocked yet.

There’s not much going on inside.  I poke around a bit for interest, but can’t find anything.  I can’t even hear any movement.  Boring.

About mid afternoon I come to the conclusion that nothing interesting is going to happen today.  Warehouse number three opens onto the river, and I wander out to sit on the wall and watch the boats go past.  I don’t really understand why people enjoy sailing.  Cold and wet, with the danger of being mown down by bigger boats.  Give me a nice warm walk in a sunny park any day.

I hear a noise behind me, and turn to look.  A mouse skitters into a hole in the wall.  I narrow my eyes.  I thought I’d got rid of all the mice.  Looks like they’ve been enticed back by the big barrels of grain in this warehouse.

My mother once told me that where one mouse is, another will soon follow.  I sit for a while watching the hole.  Nothing moves.  Eventually I lose interest.  There are other warehouses, other holes to examine.

I move on.

The sun is sinking as I make my way home.  I can hear the rumble of the City train arriving at the station.  I walk faster, to get off the street before it is filled with hurried, harried people, tired from the long day.  I slip into the house just as the first one turns the corner.

My housemate is not yet home.  She won’t be long.  I curl up on the sofa to wait for her.  She likes to talk in the evenings, and cuddle a little before dinner.  She talks about everything, and nothing.  She asks about my day, and tells me about hers.  She treats me as if I understood everything, even when I don’t.  I’m glad.

After all, cats are people, too.

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