I awoke early this morning (question for later discussion: will I ever sleep again? is anybody sleeping?) to find all the lights blazing in the living room and Alice looking a bit bleary and reclined upon the sofa.
What on earth is going on? I asked.
She then recounted her evening in a quavery yet still poetic little voice:
That feeling of clean sheets, a shower at the end of a sweaty day, the authenticity of a physical moment. The bed, the shower, the book. Calm.
Shredded in one instant by the beady little eyes of one of God’s creatures that had just joined me in bed.
I am not prone to fuss. Or shouting. Or screaming. Even after cancer, a rat in bed does not warrant any unseemly stamping or carrying on.
I said, “bugger off”! and decamped to the living room, away from those quick clawed feet on the floor, the paper rustling, the undeniable fact that I was not alone.
And thus the day began.
