Meow.
"It's five in the morning. Let me sleep."
Meow. It's breakfast time. We get fed at five now.
"Not on weekends. Let me sleep."
Meow. I'm not going to stop meowing until I get fed.
"Christ." I know he means it. Preceded by thunderous cat feet, I stagger downstairs, measure some food into their dish (the fat little guys are still on a diet), and stagger back upstairs.
Amazingly enough, I am able to get back to sleep and—I count this as a great success—my dreams are entirely computer-free even though the Hamsters left me with an assortment of tricky problems Friday afternoon. I wake up again around eight and, not thinking of computers, laze in bed for another hour before I stagger back downstairs, preceded by thunderous cat feet, to make a cappuccino.
Meow. The cats are dancing beside their empty dish. It's time to feed us. You always feed us when you make coffee.
"I fed you. Do you think I forgot?"
165 words | July 18, 2004 07:59 PM | Felis Major