|So you're going to feed us now, right?|
Which is how most mornings here at Chez Sarge start. The feline staff drops gentle hints that it's about time perhaps for Your Humble Scribe to drag his tired carcass out of the sack and provide the kitties with food. Because, dontcha know, breakfast is indeed the most important meal of the day.
Saturday was no exception, well, with one exception. The felines have learned over the past decade that their human servants like to "sleep in" every six days or so. Believe me, they really do begrudge me that extra time on Saturday, but every once in a great while they won't start prodding me, chirping at me, sticking their butts in my face, and, from time to time, grooming me with those sand paper tongues until after sunrise.
Yesterday after a perfunctory chirp and a sniff from the Alpha furry being I awoke and checked the time. 'Twas 0800, 8 AM of the clock, sure enough, Micky's big hand was on the twelve and his little one upon the eight. Sasha sat next to my head, waiting patiently (well, sort of patiently) for me to awaken and feed her and her sister. (Though truth be told, Sasha could give a fig if I fed her sister, Anya. Sasha is the Alpha and what Sasha wants, Sasha gets. After thirteen years Anya has learned to tolerate her sister's bossiness. As have we all)
So I got up, fed the cats and went back to bed. 'Tis a glorious feeling being able to go back to bed when the sun has already been up over the horizon for a while. Feels like decadence and insane luxury.
Now before all of you "morning people" (said with a sneer) start going on about how I'm wasting the day (yada, yada, yada), and extolling the glories of the morning, stop, just stop.
I, much like the feline race, am nocturnal in many respects. I like stepping outside in the dark and perusing the stars wheeling through the heavens. Listening to the creatures of the night off in the small wood nearby engaged in their life and death struggles.
During my time in Uncle Sam's Aerial Follies, many was the night that I downed tools and stepped out of a hangar to behold the slight, nearly imperceptible glow on the eastern horizon which is a portent of the coming day. While many bemoan that whole "darkest hour before the dawn," I used to revel in it. However, the coming of daylight, to me, meant the coming of the day shift which was populated mostly by strap hangars, important people, and folks who spent their lives demanding status and progress reports. My binary answers of "Done" or "Not Done" seldom satisfied those minions. Believing that I could predict the future, they would want to know when I would be done. Oddly enough, in that respect, I could actually predict the future. Without studying goat entrails or tea leaves. (Calibrate enough F-4 radars and you get a feel for the process. After a while, you actually learn the vagaries of the individual aircraft as well. No, really, each bird is the same, yet different in some ways.)
So night shift was a place to escape and to get work done while the staff pukes lay slumbering in their beds with dreams of spreadsheets and PowerPoint slides dancing in their heads.
So yeah, not a morning person. Sleeping in is awesome on a Saturday, especially when one averages only five to six hours of sleep during the week. Having to get up early is anathema to me, but I do it to put food on the table and a roof over our heads.
So once a week, the cats let me sleep "late," late to them being any time after sunrise. The rest of the week they know I'll be up at 0530 (0600 at the latest) to feed them. They begrudge me that extra hour or so on Saturday, but in their feline magnanimity they will accede to their human's desire to not get up early.
Which I appreciate.
What do the cats do once they've been fed? Why they go back to sleep of course. They assure me that they have been up all night ridding the palace of mice and that's hard work, dontcha know?
"What mice?" I will ask.
"Exactly." They will answer.
|Is breakfast ready?|
Yeah, I volunteered for this. It's okay, they're great companions and the last time I checked, there were zero mice in the house.
Yes, that's right.