So Kevin started his new job today.
It seems like an awesome job, he’s excited about it, and employment is a Good Thing. But I will kinda miss having him around the house, since companionship is good and wonderful, he made french-press coffee on a regular basis, and also whenever I had the urge to grab his ass, I only had to go ten feet down the hall and get instant gratification. (Hey, it’s the little things. Now I have to wait until early evening to get my fix.)
Owing to him being home, our schedule got a little later–we slept until ten or so and stayed up until after one. Generally I get up at nine-twenty every morning when Ben the cat decides I should get up, but for whatever reason, Kevin being home meant the cat also slept later. I have no idea why this would be, but there it was.
Today Kevin headed off to work…and at exactly nine-twenty, Ben got up from his post (he was pressed against my back, making sure no stray ninjas went for the cheap shot between the shoulderblades) walked over to the nightstand, slapped the lampshade, knocked a book onto the floor, and then began noisily licking the sides of the remaining books.
The sound of cat tongue running over pages is a distinctive and obnoxious noise which can rouse me from a sound sleep. I looked at the clock. It was nine-twenty.
Sensing that I was conscious, Angus, who was tucked behind my knees, began purring thunderously, just to make sure I wasn’t going back to sleep.
Let me clarify that they get fed only in the evening. Ben getting me up in the morning isn’t going to get him fed. In fact, I go directly to the kitchen, make tea, and then into the studio or the garden for the next few hours, which limits feline interaction. The cat has absolutely no reason to get me up so punctually, except…apparently…that’s when we get up.