Running her hand down the glistening fur, Nerida reflected on the eternal conflict between freedom and security.
‘I don’t blame you, puddy-tat. I am not keen to venture out into that weather either’.
She pulled her jacket closer around her and took another sip of her coffee. The day was young, the light poor, and the weather lamentable, but a deadline is a deadline. She doodled the mouse across its pad. It occured to Nerida that this was, indeed, a nice little cocoon, for her as much as for the cat.
‘I am free to walk out that door, but I simply don’t have the guts to do it’.
She dragged the still soggy underwear from the front-loading washer and tossed them into the dryer.
‘How free am I then? I wonder if freedom is more a state of mind than a reality.’
She stood, staring out into the rain.