The air is cold and clear, there is frost on my outside water bowl. There is no more than a sliver of a moon in a field of stars. It wasn’t my fault she fell over on the ice watching them, but I learned a few new words she says I am not allowed to repeat…
I curl up on the sofa after our evening walk. She has closed the garden door, the heating has just come on and we will soon be warm and cosy.
She does stuff in the shower and squeals at the slug I brought in for her. I thought it was a nice gesture, ‘cause she liked the first slug of spring last year… but she says she doesn’t like them much indoors…or in bare feet. There’s no pleasing some two-legses…
Anyway, she snuggles into her dressing gown, that means it is time for her to write. I know her habits. Next she’ll make coffee. She fills the kettle and bad words drift out of the kitchen. She has no coffee. Well, she can’t blame me for that at least! All I can hear is her grumbling about shops and ‘ten mile drives’. She’s not a happy two-legs.
If she has to resort to herbal tea, I may have to hide.
There’s a lot of rustling in the cupboard, then I hear her flick the switch on the kettle… and everything goes dark. It also goes very, very quiet. All the whirring and purring of the house has stopped.
“I’ve blown a fuse,” she says. I know she likes her coffee, but that’s a bit extreme, even for her.
She fumbles around in the dark, looking for a candle… not that she can see anything, so I don’t know how she’s looking. I creep through quietly to ‘vestigate… I thought I should stick close to protect her, but I just end up getting sat on. It seems that black dogs in the dark are not safe.
We finally get the candle and check the fuses… and she says they are all fine. Then, after she’s squashed me, she thinks to check outside… and there are no lights anywhere in the village.
“Power cut,” she says. Might as well just go to bed then. “The fish need towels,” she replies. Now, I think she may have done more than just blow a fuse…
She starts rummaging for towels and piling them up on the aquarium. That seems a bit odd to me, ‘cause she dries things with towels, but the fish are supposed to be wet.
“We need to keep them warm,” she explains. Okaay… never argue with a lunatic, they say. I keep quiet and stay out of her way. But then she won’t leave them, in case they get too warm…
All the little lights are still off. Everything is quiet… she can’t write, can’t curl up and read, and she won’t play ball, even though I tell her I can chase it just as well in the dark. It’s getting really cold too… ‘cause the heating went off with the lights and I thought I ought to patrol the garden, which meant her opening the door again. And you should hear what she said she’d do to me if I brought in any slugs in the dark!
I managed to convince her to snuggle up with me on the sofa. We could keep each other warm, I thought, and she could check the fish were warm enough. And just as I am finally being allowed to drift off, all the lights come back on and the whole place is whirring and buzzing… and she’s dashing round like a lunatic with armfuls of fish towels…
Talk about a peaceful Sunday evening!