Their kitty greeted me at the door. Freya, whom I named, is a ship's cat--she has extra toes on each foot to keep her safely balanced on a tossing ship. She doesn't much like to be touched and sniffed at me and darted away, pretending to be startled by the wind in the reeds.
Helle bought fall plants to punctuate her withering garden with colour. I've been trying to get mother to do the same, but to no avail. I suppose it would help if we had a garden.
Once inside, I pulled off my boots and dropped my bag and spent the remains of the day with my aunt and cousins--I vacuumed for Helle and helped William with his homework (he insisted on reading the biology textbook out loud like an old man from the heartlands of Sweden) and cooked dinner and made chocolate balls with Amelia. As I haven't been there for a bit, I had forgotten where things in the kitchen were--I resorted to pulling open drawers and peeking into cupboards to orient myself--it is the oddest feeling to have only a general sense of direction when one is usually so precise.