Misty start to the day. Like being inside cotton wool. Or passing through low cloud.
Mouse crap in the kitchen (they emerged from the fireplace like something prehistoric, between old stone when the render was removed). There are less today. Narrowing down the entry points. Clearing counters, shelves, putting out fabric soaked in citronella. They are too smart for the live trap.
Cats fed. Five. None of them kill mice. The most recent stray arrived bone thin. He will only eat chicken.
One month until the year closes. Cruel and stupid year. And the one before. I welcome its departure.
I sometimes wonder if a gap exists between years. I sometimes see it this way. A dark tunnel as you travel between the past approaching the future. A brief moment. A pause in which to alter your direction.