I am awake.
There is no sunshine, gently prying the darkness from my eyes. There are not birds, singing their melodies into my ears. There is no smell of fresh coffee, wafting into my nose. There is nothingness. Dark, empty silence or as most would notice; a perfect time for sleep. Another hour would be nice, but there's slight pressure near my foot. It works its way up, with a gentle tap on my calf. It disappears and then I feel its breath. I can now hear the feint purr. My eyes open to another set of eyes. If this was another human, maybe a tender moment, a kiss, maybe even an embrace, but alas no. The serene setting quickly evaporates like the morning dew. A high pitched screech ends this moment and I realize, that my hopes for understanding are fruitless. I reach out, tenderly stroking his mane. A quick bite reinforces his intentions. My feet hit the rug, then the cold wood floor. I clean a bowl, then another. Fill one with water. Then dry the other. I lumber back to the warmth of the rug. I pour some food, then throw open the window to a dipper or stars. I stagger out, to fetch my own meal. I turn and he's there. As if I may be hiding some treasure from him. I grumble about the time, grab my plate and my cup and walk back, crawling into the warmth of the sheets. I grab the hot mug, taking that first sip, that tells me the day has begun. I place it down, reaching for a piece of fruit, suddenly interrupted by a tiny weight on my foot and a low, feeble rumble. I look down and he's asleep. I'm awake and he's asleep.
The cat does not know it's Sunday.
There is no sunshine, gently prying the darkness from my eyes. There are not birds, singing their melodies into my ears. There is no smell of fresh coffee, wafting into my nose. There is nothingness. Dark, empty silence or as most would notice; a perfect time for sleep. Another hour would be nice, but there's slight pressure near my foot. It works its way up, with a gentle tap on my calf. It disappears and then I feel its breath. I can now hear the feint purr. My eyes open to another set of eyes. If this was another human, maybe a tender moment, a kiss, maybe even an embrace, but alas no. The serene setting quickly evaporates like the morning dew. A high pitched screech ends this moment and I realize, that my hopes for understanding are fruitless. I reach out, tenderly stroking his mane. A quick bite reinforces his intentions. My feet hit the rug, then the cold wood floor. I clean a bowl, then another. Fill one with water. Then dry the other. I lumber back to the warmth of the rug. I pour some food, then throw open the window to a dipper or stars. I stagger out, to fetch my own meal. I turn and he's there. As if I may be hiding some treasure from him. I grumble about the time, grab my plate and my cup and walk back, crawling into the warmth of the sheets. I grab the hot mug, taking that first sip, that tells me the day has begun. I place it down, reaching for a piece of fruit, suddenly interrupted by a tiny weight on my foot and a low, feeble rumble. I look down and he's asleep. I'm awake and he's asleep.
The cat does not know it's Sunday.
Does the cat need some furniture in Singapore?
ReplyDeleteI got him a Singapore Sling and now he won't get off the roof
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