The house is quiet. Perfect writing solitude.
BUT… what is that noise? Again, and again, and again.
Three times I’ve thought hubby home with a clatter of keys on the bench, but no one was there.
Three times I’ve called out ‘hello’, but no one was there.
Three times I’ve wandered the house, checking behind doors, and springing open the en suite, but no one was there.
I narrowed the sound to hubby’s office,
I couldn’t catch his Mum, but this little guy turned up on the fence, waiting for her to finish her game. For she was the culprit tapping on the window. Too quick for me to catch on film.
Now I can go back to work, without worrying about burglars, or the ceiling collapsing, or that I’m going not so quietly mad.
How can I be mad with anything so cute?