Everything has its story, even a teacup abandoned on a table in someone’s kitchen, the dregs turned cold, the curtains still drawn. For the cup begins the story of someone’s day – a businessman, perhaps, late for a meeting, his wife and children still asleep. He didn’t wake them. It doesn’t matter. They don’t see him anyway – he is a ship in their night, gently moving around them, first at dawn and again at night.
Or perhaps it is a student, back in bed, blocking out a careless night. Or a young woman who took a phone call and rushed straight out, leaving the tea and the closed curtains and a meowing cat looking up with hungry eyes. Maybe she will return ecstatic; maybe she will be distraught. Maybe a neighbour with a key will arrive to feed the cat.