Show Me Saturdays: What I See



Most mornings, this is the first thing I see when I open my eyes.


There is no need for an alarm clock. Her stomach is more accurate than an atomic clock.

On days when my husband is home, she leaves me to sleep. She knows if she tries, I will roll over and ignore her until 6:30 a.m., so she will pester my husband to be let out at 5:30 a.m., every morning, like clockwork.  Because I have scolded him in the past for feeding her so early (and establishing a bad habit),  after letting her out for a morning wee he will now return to bed.

At least one of them is trained. Or does that make both of them?

She has since taken to scrabbling up onto our tall bed and curling up at my feet, mindful that at 6:30 I will be more agreeable to rising to feed her.

And at about 6:30, I will feel a head gently resting on my chest, and then a cold nose, and perhaps a paw swiping at my face if my eyes do not open promptly enough.

After a few blinks (me), a languid stretch (the both of us), and another swipe (her), I will swing my feet to the floor and begin our day.

I guess I’ve been trained, as well.


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