The fella’s taken the little one out. For a precious few hours, I’m free to pretend I don’t have responsibilities. I wish I’d appreciated those lazy Saturday mornings when it seemed I’d never run out of them.
What am I going to do with myself? Read in bed? Catch up on sleep?
I stretch. I fancy a novel and a cuppa.
I sit down, waiting for the kettle to boil. The cat comes out of hiding and jumps into my lap.
‘Hey, it’s me time.’
The cat yawns, curls up and goes to sleep. For cats, it’s always me time.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Me Time.”