Mitch burst through Morwenna’s kitchen door, getting a distinct feeling of déjà vu. However, unlike the previous morning, Boris held his tail aloft and sauntered out of the room, completely ignoring Mitch, which surprised the man. Maybe the cat was beginning to accept him after all these years. “Hello again,” Morwenna said from her seat at the kitchen table, not looking up from whatever she was doing. “Just brewed a pot of tea; help yourself. I’d do it, but this bit is tricky.” Over the years Morwenna, and her grandmother before her, had tried to educate Mitch in the pleasures and rituals of drinking hot tea. He thought the practice of warming the pot, sticking a woollen cover on it, and so on were a lot of bother for something that was barely drinkable at best. But Mitch needed Morwenna