Walking into town to meet my daughter after her shift finishes at the pub has become an unexpectedly wonderful part of the day. There’s something about empty streets. No chaos, no noise, no people, no cars – just me, my thoughts, and the sound of my footsteps echoing along the deserted footpaths.
Along the way this evening I crossed paths with a cat. It had paused mid-step while crossing the road – staring intently at a garden hedgerow a few feet away. I wondered if it might be stalking something, when it suddenly looked me straight in the eye for a moment before lifting a rear leg, sitting down, and beginning to wash.
I will admit to grinning, and wondering if the cat was a part of the elaborate “Truman Show” that seems to surround me so often. Perhaps the programming of the cat was acting up – it had not begun it’s pre-arranged routine on-time.
Whenever I approach a junction in the road, and find a car approaching from some distance, I wonder if the actor will get into trouble with the producers.
I also wonder if suspecting you’re starring in a version of “The Truman Show” is an illness of some sort. Thankfully it’s usually an idle thought that passes without incident. Let’s just hope I don’t start shaking my fist at the sky, and ranting about non-player-characters in the middle of the highstreet.
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