Mondays are my day to be home alone. I try not to visit with anyone, or do anything social on Mondays.
Being at home all day, I really get to observe all the shenanigans that go on. Where the chickens roam, how often the cats go in and out (and leave the door open!), when the sun hits the kitchen, the garden, the picnic table. I get to hear the birds, see the plants turn towards the light.
The cats, they have such simple dreams, so far as I can tell. They would very much like it, if we could just all live outside together. Our older cat, Kissa, has basically become an outdoor cat, since we moved here. Sure, she comes home for meals, and treats, like sullen teenager, but the minute she's done, she skulks off again (like a sullen teenager).
The two of them hang out in the front yard, fighting, climbing, staring into space, napping, eating chicken oats, dreaming of somehow getting into the garden, ruining the flower beds, and chasing bugs, without much success (thankfully).
These are the good old days: weeding in the garden, working at the picnic table, walking in and out more often than the cats, bringing in endless bits earth and blades of grass…the long, lonely days, when all the little odds and ends of the week get tallied up. The bills are paid, the dishes done, there's dirt under my fingernails again.
That is all.