Chewing the Cud by Steve Toase

Tethered to the sink in the shared kitchen the cow looked confused, though it was a close run thing who was at that moment more perplexed.

I tried to squeeze my way past, keeping away from her mouth. She looked at the dirty floor, unsure where her grass had gone.

Reaching over I turned on the kettle. The cow made no noise. She tried to push over the fitted cupboards to make more space. Failing, she sat down. Her full udder slumped to one side. I watched the cow and the cow watched me, neither knowing what to do.

The kettle rumbled to a light dimming finish and I poured the water over the cheap teabag. Opening the fridge there was no milk on my shelf, instead a note.

“Sorry. We used the last of your milk during the night. We hope this replaces it. Sorry again.”

I looked at the cow and the cow looked back. Shaking my head I spooned out the teabag and went back to my room with my cup of black tea.

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Chewing the Cud by Steve Toase