MORNING ROUTINE ON A ROUTINE MORNING

Morning approaches, and in this house, like Robert Frost’s fog, it approaches on little cat feet.

I often wonder why we bother owning an alarm clock when our Wake-Up Device is more effective and persistent than any mere mechanical contrivance. The alarm clock enjoys only one advantage: we can set it for any time we wish. Our Wake-Up Device has but one setting, and her morning routine is as inflexible as that of your average drill sergeant. The only variable - and a minor one, at that - is its timing, but its reliability is unchallenged.

At 5:15, give or take 15 minutes or so, Matata will begin Preparations for Breakfast. This means rousing the Great Bifurcated Gods from their slumber, that they may fill the Kitty Bowls with provender.

Step One: Begin sticking face and ass into Elisson’s face. Purr loudly.

Step Two: Mufficate on the pillows and on the respective heads of Elisson and She Who Must Be Obeyed.

Step Three: Begin playing with the telephone cord, should it be dangling off the edge of the nightstand.

Step Four: Knock eyeglasses off nightstands. This will usually get the attention of the Bifurcated Ones.

Step Five: Enter the Small Room wherein resides the Porcelain Appliance. Unroll the toilet paper.

Step Six: Resume operations at Step One, repeating as necessary.

Step Seven: When provender delivery has been completed, take representative samples from both bowls.

There are times when the attentions of our Wake-Up Device are unwelcome. This was the case Sunday, when SWMBO and I were struggling to metabolize the remains of the Entire Side of Beef and the bathtub full of Cabernet we had consumed the night before. In such rare events, I will take the unusual step of locking the cats out of our bedroom. It’s relatively simple; I just head for the stairs as though I were heading toward the Monstrous Bin o’ Kibble, and when Hakuna and Matata follow me out, snap-snap, I duck back in the bedroom and lock the door. Matata was suspicious this time and she was loath to leave the bedroom, but her hunger got in the way of her Feline Intuition, and she fell for my ruse at last.

But she had her revenge...


The Wrath of ’Ta

(Cue Edward G. Robinson voice) “Where’s your bunwad now?”