Made it by a whisker, just a whisker more, they really are thin aren’t they, whiskers, close shaves. How thin, how tiny do they have to be are we talking about a single follicle a stunted piece of stubble pouring out of the epidermis? Are we talking about a cat whisker? Long and wise, a mouse whisker, a rat? A theoretical measurement of time, a whisker, a bit like an ISH really. Yes there is a measurement of time called an ISH you know about three thirtyISH. Now the ISH is as hard to grab hold of as the thinnest of whiskers, its moves about just like one, feels its flexible way around time, just like that clever feline I know. When she sits on my lap in a big warm blur and I’m stroking her and tickling away under the neck and that short clipped fur bunches up like a rug in front of a fire and she purrs like a Harley, loud and strong, lumpy sometimes. Mid-winter in front of the fire with dinner settling down and glass of wine and the TV and no thought of work tomorrow it’s quite the life. Quite the moment and in a whisker it’s gone.

Monday rises and responsibilities start to invade like an unwelcome army, defensive shields go up, recce parties are sent out for commando raids to children’s bedrooms, get dressed , eat breakfast, ride shotgun to the school gate drop them off just a whisker ahead of the bell, foot down, join the other crowd in line on the freeway, to stand in line for another day in the orange cubicle, yes , no. My imagination is on a thin razor edge staring at these screens. A razor, I could easily slit my throat accidentally on those sharp words that I read from customers and bosses, surely I’m just a whisker away from madness and mayhem, but it’s all held together by that cat! She makes the world make sense. She’s the all wise all knowing all seeing behind that cleverly disguised whiskered smile, that cat food breath smile, that sharp tooth grin, those claws that dig in as she reaches heights of pleasure in a feline version of an orgasm- I imagine.