K
Kate
Guest
Dinner for 6…
They ran around her in excitement as Harriet shuffled down the hallway in her old slippers; flip flapping on the shabby lino. The house was cold and she pulled her cardigan tighter across her bony chest. Winter would soon hit with a vengeance; it was already dark by 5 o’clock these days. After many dry months the weather had finally broken and it hadn’t stopped raining for days. That made it hard on her little family, who hated getting wet and refused to play outside when it was raining. Harriet loved their company though and didn’t know what she would do without them.
Harry, her only son, was an infrequent visitor. Much too busy to worry about his old mum. Management material now, he’d told her, puffing out his chest importantly, when her did his duty and visited her last Christmas with the usual new nightie (she always wore pyjamas) and a bunch of Christmas lilies. She never liked Christmas lilies much, but thought it pointless to enlighten him. She chuckled to herself as she thought of Harry managing anything. He was always such a mummy’s boy and couldn’t even choose what colour socks to wear. Harriet had always laid his clothes out on the bed each morning ready for him after his shower, just as she had done for her late husband. She supposed Harry’s wife just took over where Harriet had left off.
The little group followed her eagerly into the dingy kitchen, rubbing against her legs in anticipation. She put five small plastic bowls out on the bench, each one a special colour, and doled out the Kittykat sardine and cheese – their favourite. Harriet groaned a little as she bent to place the food on the floor. Her back had been worrying her more with this wet weather. Each cat knew their designated bowl and jostled and clambered over each other to get to the food.
Only after she had cleaned up after her feline children did Harriet think about feeding herself. She put the kettle on and made herself a cold corned beef and pickle sandwich. She carried her meagre meal through to the sitting room and placed it on a small table beside her old comfy armchair. Glancing at her wristwatch she turned the small tellie on to catch the news. The newsreader was saying something about terrorists and war in the Middle East as she sipped her tea and munched her sandwich.
Reluctantly she turned on the small electric heater – her pension wasn’t going as far as it used to and the bills were hard to manage. Soon the warm glow of the heater filled the shabby little room. The cats, all gingers, cuddled together on the mat at her feet, snuffling and twitching, enjoying their moggie dreams. Her favourite, Meggsie, stretched and lightly leapt on her lap, purring loudly. She stroked his shaggy coat and let the dreadful images of war and destruction wander in and out of her mind, untouched by the world outside. She murmured in relief when she heard the weather report was for a fine day tomorrow and settled back to watch her favourite soap.
They ran around her in excitement as Harriet shuffled down the hallway in her old slippers; flip flapping on the shabby lino. The house was cold and she pulled her cardigan tighter across her bony chest. Winter would soon hit with a vengeance; it was already dark by 5 o’clock these days. After many dry months the weather had finally broken and it hadn’t stopped raining for days. That made it hard on her little family, who hated getting wet and refused to play outside when it was raining. Harriet loved their company though and didn’t know what she would do without them.
Harry, her only son, was an infrequent visitor. Much too busy to worry about his old mum. Management material now, he’d told her, puffing out his chest importantly, when her did his duty and visited her last Christmas with the usual new nightie (she always wore pyjamas) and a bunch of Christmas lilies. She never liked Christmas lilies much, but thought it pointless to enlighten him. She chuckled to herself as she thought of Harry managing anything. He was always such a mummy’s boy and couldn’t even choose what colour socks to wear. Harriet had always laid his clothes out on the bed each morning ready for him after his shower, just as she had done for her late husband. She supposed Harry’s wife just took over where Harriet had left off.
The little group followed her eagerly into the dingy kitchen, rubbing against her legs in anticipation. She put five small plastic bowls out on the bench, each one a special colour, and doled out the Kittykat sardine and cheese – their favourite. Harriet groaned a little as she bent to place the food on the floor. Her back had been worrying her more with this wet weather. Each cat knew their designated bowl and jostled and clambered over each other to get to the food.
Only after she had cleaned up after her feline children did Harriet think about feeding herself. She put the kettle on and made herself a cold corned beef and pickle sandwich. She carried her meagre meal through to the sitting room and placed it on a small table beside her old comfy armchair. Glancing at her wristwatch she turned the small tellie on to catch the news. The newsreader was saying something about terrorists and war in the Middle East as she sipped her tea and munched her sandwich.
Reluctantly she turned on the small electric heater – her pension wasn’t going as far as it used to and the bills were hard to manage. Soon the warm glow of the heater filled the shabby little room. The cats, all gingers, cuddled together on the mat at her feet, snuffling and twitching, enjoying their moggie dreams. Her favourite, Meggsie, stretched and lightly leapt on her lap, purring loudly. She stroked his shaggy coat and let the dreadful images of war and destruction wander in and out of her mind, untouched by the world outside. She murmured in relief when she heard the weather report was for a fine day tomorrow and settled back to watch her favourite soap.
