I was eating in the restaurant alone. It was a hot summer evening. Music came from an open window above the courtyard. The music made me lonely: my boyfriend had just left, taken a train somewhere else.
I ordered chicken, picked at it without enthusiasm. Then I saw someone looking at me. A small black cat under the table, its stare half-way between wary and demanding.
I cut a slice of chicken and let it fall. The cat ate it in two gulps, then came and pressed itself against my legs. Glad of the contact, I realised I already no longer missed him — this boyfriend who had just left, taken a train somewhere else.
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