When the daylight has faded

It'll be fun, they said (#pet)

In high spirits I open my front door. Three days I have been back in work now. Three days of office gossip, drinking tepid coffee from largely unwashed cups and having deadlines shouted into your face relentlessly. Pure heaven. Long live Biontech, Astra Zeneca and Curevac!

Tired but elated, I kick off my shoes, pour a cup of coffee from the flask I had prepared earlier this morning, studiously ignoring the wallpaper, or rather what is left of it, to the right.

I turn to walk into the living room, dreaming of fluffy cushions, another caffeine boost and my new favourite Netflix series when, all of a sudden, my coffee cup goes flying. It hurls hot coffee all over the hitherto sunny yellow wallpaper before shattering into a million micro-china pieces on my floor, my body following the trajectory closely before I manage to right myself.

It takes my brain a second to catch up with what my eyes already know.

The Corona-addition to my household has employed his usual stealth approach again, despite a myriad of serious conversations we've had about sneaking up on me and tripping me up.

When I see the chickenpox-afflicted wallpaper, I am tempted to kick the purring bundle of fur into tomorrow. But when I see his adorable little face, I hiss at him instead, then feel bad and stoop down to stroke him.

"Stupid cat," I mutter to myself when my peripheral vision gives me an unwanted view of my prized possession, the Ashdown luxury fabric corner sofa that cost me a monetary fortune but gave me mental and emotional riches every time I sank into its welcoming relaxation cushions.

Half the fabric has been shredded, long strands of stylishly beige cloth hanging off the once beautiful piece of furniture.

"Get a cat!" my friends had advised some weeks ago during lockdown when I had mentioned the words loneliness and depression in one sentence. "It'll be fun to have a living creature around."

Well, nothing good has ever come from anything that started with somebody else saying, "It'll be fun!"

The creature causing all the fun is rubbing his sleek graceful body against my legs now, letting me know how much he appreciates that his slave and tin-opener has returned.

I sweep him up into my arms, not knowing whether I would be giving him a great big hug or strangling him.

My bet is on strangling. Killing my sofa must be rated an act of aggression, no, terrorism on domestic soil. Punishable by slow and painful death.

I'm about to grab his neck when he licks my nose. It's a little disgusting but the way he cuddles up to me is the sweetest thing I have experienced in a long time. After all, my last boyfriend was an idiot. Hence the furry replacement.

My traitorous body moves my hand without my consent, stroking the little thing softly.

I sink down on what used to be a sofa, the cat curling up in my lap, destruction of interior design forgotten.