Magaret B. Davidson
At first light he leaps onto the sleeping form of his provider. Since he weighs fifteen pounds, this achieves his objective -- such objective being preparation of breakfast. Once in the kitchen he weaves himself sinuously around her feet, sometimes being successful in tripping her. She places his food on the floor. He inspects it suspiciously before removing himself from its vicinity in seeming disgust.
He retires. His bed and that of his provider being one and the same, said provider is obliged to make the bed around The Cat. His displeasure is made manifest by lethal looks and gutteral mutterings.
Usually he’ll remain abed until about five, but should he feel particularly energetic, he may rouse himself sufficiently to locate a sunny windowsill on which to recline. He might even summon the strength to wash himself.
Around six one will find The Cat atop the kitchen counter examining dinner -- the provider’s dinner, not his. Once coaxed down from the counter he’ll again inspect his own bowl, and perhaps condescend to sample a morsel. This is merely an hors d’oeuvre however. He is awaiting leftovers. On the few occasions when these have not been forthcoming his provider has paid dearly. He has ignored her for days, his disdain palpable.
Assuming that things have gone his way, he may honor her with his presence on her lap for an hour. Then it’s off to bed again. He’s commandeered the pillow and is completely immovable upon his long-suffering provider’s arrival.
It’s been a exhausting day for The Cat!
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