Daisy lies low and watches the tides. In and out they flow, up and down, the kitchen door retreating like the sea. There I am, bobbing about on top of them. First into the kitchen on some errand or other. Then back again. Daisy gets a scratch for that. Up the stairs. Down the stairs. I am a radio station that can’t quite be tuned. A shadow cast upon a wave of noise. Everything is returning. There is just one point of impeccable furry rest and I sink towards it. Give it a scratch. Slip away. It’s all about meaning! I call back. It’s all about giving meaning to the world! Daisy says nothing. She doesn’t budge. Her tiny wet nose doesn’t even twitch. But she agrees. Oh how she agrees! I know it.