Ever weekend morning starts the same. Before the crack of dawn, my alarm cats go off. Every morning. At 6 am. Early. These three cats, who almost never get along, jump on my bed and do everything they can to get me up, and they do not have a snooze button. I get loud purring in my ear, claws on the back, cat fur in the face, tails slapping me in the face, every annoying thing they can think of to get me up.
When I can’t take it anymore, after about 5 minutes, I finally stagger out of bed and slowly make my way down the stairs. If no fights start between my cat and my temporary roommates, it’s a good start. Usually I have to deal with a little hissing from Pips at Loki or Angel.
I clean out their dishes of the food from the night before, and start getting ready to feed them the morning dry-food breakfast. While doing this, I have to walk a mine field of cats, and trust me, you do not want to step on a cat. The cry makes you feel guilty, even though they were the ones walking under your feet. I mean, come on, I haven’t even had my coffee yet.
Each cat gets 1/3 of a cup of dry food. These cats are on a high protein diet, since they are all fat. Pips, my sisters cat, is the worst, she can barely make it into my bed, and still has to claw her way into it every now and then. I don’t even want to get into what she has done to my sheets. Too much fat to jump, I guess. After finally taking care of these little balls of fur, I can start my day.
And as soon as I get back to my room to start my day, the cats are already finished. As far as I can tell, I have to get up at 6 just so they can take three bites of food. All that, for a nibble. And so my day can begin. Or maybe I just go back to bed.
I was wrong, the cats do have a snooze button. Full bellies. And now, they get to sleep, but I am wide awake.