Friday 23rd April

Day 4

When I put my key in the door this afternoon I notice my neighbour bent double over her lawn. She is picking primroses and daisies - making a posy of them. “Rescuing them before I cut the grass,” she says. I tell her about the birds pecking the flower heads off some of our primrose plants at the bottom of the garden, leaving them in a pale circle on the ground. If they ate the petals I wouldn’t think they were vandals.

I’m hollowed out with hunger after my yoga class and trawling the supermarket isles. It’s a long time since my apple breakfast. I leave the shopping on the kitchen floor, the wet clothes in the washing machine, give the pussy cat a quick stroke. It isn’t enough. I start chopping - a long red chilli, a juicy hunk of ginger, fat cloves of garlic and scrape them into the pan with a spoonful of olive oil. The pussy cat follows me from fridge to sink to cooker, making little squeaking noises. I show him his bowl of food, as if he doesn’t know it’s there, shake some of the dried nuggets onto the floor. He looks at me with big green eyes and crouches to eat. The pungent chilli oil is making me cough. I scoop a cubed courgette into the pan and then a box of marinated tofu pieces and stir it around. The pussy cat is back almost sitting on my foot, squeaking.

Maybe he’s thirsty. He follows me upstairs and I lift him into the bath so he can drink from the dribbling tap. The routine is that you have to stroke him for quite a while before he puts his mouth to the water. I can smell the lunch catching in the pan - burnt garlic. I rescue it with a little water and a few shakes of tamari. Then tip the whole lot into a bowl of washed rocket leaves, sliced cucumber and baby tomatoes. I hear the pussy cat jump out of the bath.I don’t want to give him attention now. I want to eat. He doesn’t know about my hunger, only his own. I think I must have failed as a pussy cat mum. But probably he’s unsettled by that invading tomcat.

We eat in the garden next to wilting pots of primroses. My lovely man folds his feast into a dinner plate sized tortilla wrap. I tear mine into jagged pieces and use it like a second fork. I wear long sleeves and a wide brimmed hat resigned to the fact that the days of burning sun on my bare arms are over. A little distance away the pussy cat washes himself on the grass and sretches out in the shade, his eyes half closed. Waiting for me to get up and go inside.