writings of a writing man
Who turned the lights off?Harry Cat and me slept late this morning. My normal time to wake these days is just before first light, about 5.40, when Harry creeps on to the chest at the side of the bed and starts huffing at me. If a couple of huffs don't work, he leans forward and tickles my face with his whiskers. It that doesn't yield the required result, it's the pressing of his cold wet nose to my warm dry nose trick, followed by a soft dab of a paw every couple of minutes until I stir. I'm always awake by the end of the performance but if I refuse to open my eyes he steps over, snuggles in, and goes back to sleep until I'm ready. Most days I open my eyes at the first huff, whisper "Good morning, Harry," and slide out of bed, trying to find my slippers without treading on Dolly the Mega Cat, who sleeps on the mat by the side of the bed. Dolly doesn't like getting up so early in the morning. Her usual routine, though she's not really a cat for routine, is to groan, moan, yowl quietly, and jump onto the bed to claim the warm bit I've just left. This morning, we all slept a good hour longer than usual. That was because it was dark. It was pitchy when I opened my eyes at Harry's command. It was still dark when I got to the kitchen door. Only the faintest hint of daylight in the sky. Harry was desperate to go out so I opened the door a crack and sniffed the air. Horrid. Cold, clammy, and dark. I looked down at Harry. "Are you sure you want to go out in that?" There was no doubt; Harry needed to go out. So I pulled the door open a crack wider, just enough for a middle-aged cat to slip through and out popped one Harry. He stopped on the path just outside the door as usual, and when I repeated my question, gave me a despairing glare, huffed, and trotted off about his early morning business. About an hour later, after one ciggie, one cup of coffee, and an awful lot of email, I heard the familiar thump at the kitchen door. Harry wanted in. So off I waddled, cup in hand. My little furry warrior, just like the day outside, was cold, clammy, and not too pleased with himself. I had my second cup while he was stuffing his breakfast. When he'd finished and cleaned his whiskers and other parts in need of urgent attention he looked up at me. I went to the door, expecting him to want to complete his morning rounds. He gave me pitying look. He despairs, sometimes, that he'll ever manage to train me properly. Surely I should have realised he'd rather stay in this morning? Oh well. We pootled off to the study, he to sleep on the sofa and me to resume my morning's work. About half an hour later I heard Dolly crunching her morning biscuit, then she toddled along to join Harry on the sofa. It's a grey, dark, miserable day here in Somerset, and none of us are planning to go out.
November 23, 1998
|
||
|
|
||
|
All text, artwork and html coding, |