outside the door.
3.05 a.m. Banshee howling loud enough to wake the dead. Desperate scratching at the door. Not a spirit from beyond the grave, it was Yoda again. Got up and let him back in.
3.10 a.m. After more chest-kneading, Yoda wrapped himself around my head and fell asleep, but my mind was wide awake, thinking about our future. It had been almost ten days since Matt lost his job. What if we ran out of money? Should we sell the house? Stay? Should Matt try and find another job? What? Anything? Should I try to go back into teaching? It paid better than the temporary part-time jobs I’d been doing for the last five years.
Dad. He’s lonely. Care home? Not necessary. He doesn’t need care, just company. Maybe he’d consider sheltered accommodation for that. He wouldn’t be alone there. Maybe he’d like Yoda.
4.07 a.m. Matt was snoring away.
I gave him a nudge and he obediently turned over, and after five minutes resumed his snoring.
Nudged him again.
Finally started drifting off to sleep when Matt did one of his spectacular snort-snores. Very loud. Almost leapt out of my skin. Nudged him and he turned over and continued snoring softly.
Debated whether to thump him in the kidneys, suffocate him with a pillow or nudge him again. Grrr.
Got up and climbed into the bed in the spare room. Peace at last, but sleep still escaped me as it has done for the past year or so.
Finally dozed off. Zzzzz.
5 a.m. Yoda found me. He patted my cheek gently with his paw. I ignored him. More gentle patting, which I ignored.
5.05 a.m. Yoda inserted a claw into my nostril and pulled. Ow! That hurt. Wide awake now. Where has he learnt to do that? Do cats come with a built-in manual of instructions on how to wake your owner? Advanced technique no. 3: locate hole in middle of human’s face. Flick out claw. Insert into hole and pull.
5.10 a.m. Got out of bed, went downstairs and fed Yoda, who was now purring like an old bus. Back to bed in spare room. Can hear Matt still sleeping and snoring in our bedroom. Grrr.
6 a.m. Finally drifted off. Zzz.
8 a.m. Matt came into the room and nudged me awake.
‘Cup of tea, Cait?’
I turned over and opened my eyes. ‘Uh. No. I’m fine, thanks. I’ll get one when I’m up.’
He put a mug on the bedside cabinet. ‘Made you one anyway.’
8.05 a.m. Drifting back off to sleep, just for another half-hour …
Matt came back into the room. ‘I’ve fed Yoda so you don’t need to.’
‘Mmm. Right. Thanks.’
‘Are you getting up?’
‘No. Yes. Didn’t sleep too well. You were snoring.’
‘Sorry. You should have nudged me.’
Kitchen. 9 a.m. ‘What shall we have for breakfast?’ asked Matt. He was still in his blue towelling dressing gown.
‘We? Uh. Oh. Right. I don’t usually have much in the week. I usually just grabbed something quick after you’d gone to work. A Nutribullet or something.’
‘Oh. What’s in that then?’
‘Kale, seeds, fruit.’
Matt pulled a face. ‘OK. I’ll fix my own.’
He seemed miffed.
10 a.m. Top floor. Study. Stared at screen which was blank apart from two words. New ideas.
Clicked on Facebook. Watched a clip of a panda with no eyes that is befriended by a puppy. Aw.
Must start work, but I see someone’s posted a clip of a baby elephant playing in the sea for the first time. Crucial viewing I’d say.
Stared out of the window at the fields at the back of the house. It’s misty out there.
Back to blank screen.
Matt, still in his dressing gown, popped his head round the door. ‘Cup of coffee, Caitlin?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Did I hear the phone go earlier?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Dad.’
Matt came in and settled himself on the chair opposite my desk. ‘What did he have to say?’
‘Nothing much.’
‘He must have said something.’
‘Usual stuff. How my brother’s doing. How his dentist appointment went. He’s lonely, I think.’
‘How is your brother?’
‘Fine.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Trying to work.’
Matt got up. ‘Sorry. I can see I’m interrupting you.’
He seemed miffed.
10.30 a.m. Sent email to my friend Lizzie, a retired literary agent in London, asking her to call.
Post arrived. I went downstairs to pick it up.
Into kitchen to open post. Matt was sitting on a stool at the island.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Post.’
He got up and hovered behind my shoulder. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?
‘Well yes, but it’s addressed to me.’
‘Since when has your mail been private?’
‘It’s not. Junk mail,’ I said as I opened the first envelope. ‘See, nothing important.’
Matt looked out of the French doors to the garden. He seemed miffed.
10.45 a.m. Matt appeared at the study door.
‘Anyone call for me? I thought I heard the phone go.’
‘Dad again. He forgot to tell me to listen to something on the radio.’
‘Oh. What was that?’
‘Some programme about children’s writers.’
‘Anything else in the mail?’
I picked it
