Writing this to prove to myself that it happened, that I sat on the terrace on damp and cloudy day, mist covering anything and everything 200 m ahead, but then eventually lifting as the road from here runs to a bright and sunny coast an hour or so away. That I sat on the terrace with the more clownish of the two cats and we both simply were, me with a cup of peppermint tea and my breathing, she with her paws on the wet ground.

Elsewhere, far down that road and beyond, the rich and powerful did their thing, tried to achieve something of this peace after their explosive orgasms and boundless explorations of joy, others felt class anxiety at the dizzying, unimaginable gulf between themselves and the real lords and ladies, and kicked down all the harder, still more struggled to afford a dignified life and peace of mind at any price.

Meanwhile, hidden from the world, the more clownish of the two cats and I did nothing, almost nothing, and achieved everything that needed to be done.