Now, it happens rarely at best, but I felt like staying in bed longer this morning. Usually I'm up and about before the dawn of day, but I just didn't have the foot twitching obnoxiousness to bolt from the bed and sing, "Good mornin! Good mornin'! We've talked the whole night through! Good mornin'! Good mornin' to you!" today.
But Sophie is used to our routine, and she couldn't understand why I wouldn't want to get up and play and give her morning treats. She couldn't quite get the concept of my very large vodka grapefruit the night before, or my waking to her gagging on a hairball at the end of the bed at 3:00 a.m and how I couldn't get back so sleep after I got up to clean the mess. She kept jumping to the bed—she can jump even without claws! —and pouncing on us, hunkering down for the surprise attack and moments later one of us would groan at the impact.
It went on for well over an hour, until Nick, who never gets out of bed before daybreak on a Saturday, purred in his husky morning voice (that I used to find attractive), "Dear? Why don't you get up. She likes it when you're downstairs."
In case you don't speak Nick, that's code for, "She won't stop until one of us gets up. I think it should be you...because I want to sleep."
