Corners

I had a visit last night from an old friend. He padded up to me, a robust lump of fat, fur and whiskers, squawking in unrefined manner. If he had been human, he would have existed much in the vein of the Dad, Jim in The Royle Family, sitting dribbling in an armchair, wanting only for the bare necessities in life - food, love and sleep... in that order. I'm delighted to see him. It has been a while. I pour him some milk, a delicacy reserved only for his later years, Persians aren't allowed it usually. He finishes lapping it up and looks at me expectantly, his bib tangled and wet from his treat. I gather him up in my arms, his reassuring weight pressing heavily against my chest and we turn a corner in my mind together.

The Stepfather sits at the long kitchen table with my mother, the table divides us. There is a document needing three signatures on the table. They are waiting for me to sign. I pause uncertainly, the cat's weight roots me to this spot on the safe side of the table. But they are waiting. I stumble forward and picking up a red pen, I sign... all the while knowing in my gut that I shouldn't... despite the encouraging smile on my mother's face.