I woke up before my radio did. I must have an internal clock; it was exactly eight hours after I went to bed.

The morning was for loose ends: spoonfuls of muesli, unpacking luggage, laundry, a bit of karaoke, then organising to meet Kate for brunch tomorrow morning.

I changed out of my sleep clothes into public clothes. I finally have a pair of jeans I like. I matched it with a red and white stripy polo top with three-quarter length sleeves. To combat the grey outside, I pulled on a black polar fleece.

It was bright enough outside to justify sunglasses — they’re prescription lenses, hanging off mauve frames. The lenses are grey because I don’t like the colour bias from looking through brown or green lenses.

Briskly down the hill I went. I haven’t walked for a long time, at least a week. I used to walk to and from the train station. Walking suddenly felt too slow. I remembered jogging around the lake at Shepparton last week. So I jogged, despite not wearing running shoes and my carry bag bouncing against my side. It did feel faster.

I saw the fluffy whiteness about ten metres ahead and slowed down as I approached. There was a cat lying on the grass under a tree. It was lying on its side; I’ve never seen a cat do that without rolling over within a few seconds. Perhaps…it was dead.

I stepped off the footpath onto the greeness. The cat had long white hair with grey patches. It didn’t move as a I hovered over it. Around its neck was a pink collar. I imagined the cat owner searching our neighbourhood and finally coming across the body. Perhaps someone had run into it early in the morning and felt enough regret to get out of the car, pick the cat up and lay it under this tree. I’m sorry, there was nothing I could do.

I wished I had brought my camera. I would have used a shallow depth of field and maybe underexposed it by a stop or two.