You Don't Have A Care In The World

I looked at my cat, Missy, just as I was heading out the back door with a million things to do, with her one paw out stretched, over the blanket she was snuggled up to, the winter sun shining in through the window forming the proverbial pool in which she was lying, as if in her very own spot light, one eye closed, one lazily half-open and I thought, you don't have a care in the world.

I wanted to be her.

I did spend morning tea in Brunettis drinking coffee and eating crème brûlée and afternoon tea in another establishment drinking tea and eating chocolate chip biscuits.

Sam text me eating brûlée or chocolate biscuits and said he was jealous. He came over last night and shared in our Sunday night dinner – I made a flourless French chocolate cake, because some of the gang have decided recently that they are gluten intolerant, as is half the world, so it would seem, now a days. I made it up to him for neglecting him last week, you know, with pats and licks. The way to a boy's heart, food and sex. I said I was sorry, as I gazed into his eyes and he said he was sorry too.

Truthfully, I didn't really think I had any thing to apologise for, it was extraordinary circumstances, last week. But, I was sorry that his feelings had been hurt. And, hey, an apology doesn't cost anything.

And he's got beautiful brown eyes.

The winter sun shone down all day and it was all quite lovely. Sunny winter days in Melbourne are really gorgeous like warm honey trickled over you, or fur lined slippers around your toes.

Missy was quickly wrapped around my ankles, when I got home late, meowing, meowing, meowing. Oh yes, I thought, now you've got a care, hey?