An entry by Madame
Louis and I had such a fine day yesterday, on both sides of the veil. The day here was a classic day out together – perfect early autumn weather and not a ripple of unpleasantness on our contentment.
We had no set plans for the day, or at least, only a general idea of where to go. Of late we've taken the train on a Saturday morning to South Yarra and stopped at the Café de la Place (our weekday coffee-stop) for coffee and crepes. We did so again yesterday, idling over strawberry-and-cream crepes and the morning newspapers, before strolling oh-so-slowly up to Fawkner Park. Louis had hinted before we left that we had a lovely day at Home overnight, and I didn't want to miss the chance to do some reiki and learn what we'd done. Louis helped, with his finger to my “third eye”, as he did the other day. I felt almost like I was being pulled into the time, almost like I was experiencing it again. Maybe the memories will get stronger yet, who knows? I won't be complaining if they do!
I think I arrived at Home in bed – that is to say, the first thing I recall is waking in bed, in the morning sun. I don't think I'd spent the night there, because Louis and I started, well, you know. That doesn't necessarily mean we hadn't done so earlier, but on this occasion I think I'd just arrived.
Segue to the same morning and me pulling on my dressing gown while Louis pondered what was more tempting: having breakfast or staying upstairs and … I laughed and said I was going to make breakfast.
Talking about breakfast must have given the furries ideas, because when I got downstairs I saw all ten of them scattered around the main room, eating from little plates. Oh the novelty of making one's own food! And, perhaps, the novelty of not having to wait for the servants to bestir themselves. I laughed again and called Louis to come down and have a look at this, and remember seeing him (in his white towelling dressing gown, the same as mine) jogging down the stairs.
In the kitchen, Louis prepared his usual bacon and scrambled eggs, while I made porridge. Louis asked what brought that on, and I said I hadn't the faintest idea, unless it was because I'd been wondering about making Bircher muesli the other day. He asked why I didn't make it there and then, and I said it was because I'd never tasted it and wanted to try it on the earth-side first. (Actually I don't know if I will; preparing breakfast the night before sounds like altogether too much hassle.)
While we did this a certain tabby cat had flown onto the table in her usual mannerless fashion. More than that, she decided my shoulder was the place to be, so I had the fun of making and eating my porridge while her solid little self perched up there. I felt that weight - small, slim cat though Katie was, and is, she's no featherweight. Louis and I joked about her deserting him and not loving him any more, but I think she was really after a good vantage-point, because when she took a good look at his plate, she bounced down onto the table again. And yes, she had her own little portion of bacon, and had it, I think, from her own little plate. Spoiled, much? Louis observed that she does still love her papa … or at least, his breakfast.
to be continued
2 comments:
Phffft, cats. That Katie's getting predictable--and frightfully pudgy from all those eggs, no doubt. And all the furry babies eating off their own little plates--easy to see when they get to feed themselves, just snapping up whatever's on the floor isn't good enough!
ROFL! I didn't write it down, but I said at the time it's a good thing Missy can't get fat, or she would be. And predictable is right. Never give up a bad habit, that's the cat's rule.
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