She sits on her withered beige armchair and places her arthritic fingers around the mug in her lap. She sees her granddaughter’s lips saying, ‘I love you’ in the wobbly handwriting on the cup’s handle. She reminisces about her late orange tabby cat as she gazes at the gashes he left for her on the right arm of the chair. She thinks about her grown up baby boy off at work when an insurance advertisement sweeps across the television screen. In the stagnant air of this sitting room, living, breathing moments have happened. Dust swirls in the beams of sunlight.