The cat's away

.....He's gone up North to see the family.  I get to work, wash all the clothes on the in-between chair where things languish for days, I raid the bookshelves, pack books we're never going to read again, haul them to the bus stop and cram them into the shelves of the communal library.  I shake out rugs, hoover,  scrub the floors, clean the dog's basket, empty the fireplace, refill the logs.  I go back and forward to the cathedral flat and bring my stuff back home.  In the evenings I pour myself a glass of wine, light a cigarette and wander from room to room and am happy with what I've done.  Bernie takes to the sofa.  I turn a blind eye.  The cat's away.