Saturday

There’s this little puppy squeaking painfully downstairs on the road. I heard a similar cry yesterday. One of them had got crushed by a car it was sleeping under. There are a bunch of them downstairs, hardly a week old. Last night I returned quite late, parked the car outside my home, but couldn’t make myself turn off the engine. Going up to an empty house wasn’t such an appealing idea after all. I sat there, lit a cigarette, wondering where to go from there. There was sleep in my eyes. There was this lone pup, playing in the middle of the lane, heard the music from my car, walked over for a little investigation. He found the smoke from my cigarette both fascinating and irritating at the same time. The rag he had been playing with, seemed to have called out to him, so he lost interest in me and ran back to his non-living playmate. It was a gloomy afternoon today; my landlord woke me up so he could show my flat to a prospective buyer. I found it gloomier inside, walked up to the terrace, sat on the last step, with a cup of coffee and my book. I couldn’t read for too long. I hadn’t noticed the way the leaves and flowers in my mum’s garden dance with the breeze, before. I was tempted to get the camera to make a video, but resisted, I didn’t want to miss the show they were putting up for me. The cat from downstairs walked up for its regular ‘marking its territory’ walk. Wasn’t too pleased to see me sitting where he likes to pee. It ignored me for a while, pretending to look everywhere but at me. Then it looked, constricted its pupils with disapproval, started walking back downstairs, disappointed that it's disapproval didn’t have an effect on me. I lit a cigarette and went back to the book, and then back to staring at the plants and the surroundings. I felt peace and then I heard the puppy squeaking downstairs.