I am not a morning person. One of my brothers-in-law claims that my family suffers from “the Regan Sleeping Sickness.”
Once prone for the evening, it takes us longer than usual to become vertical again. It’s not normal, and the feeling borders on pain. Imagine waking up every morning feeling like you have a hangover and you’ll get the idea. For this very reason, I do not like naps.
What fool subjects themselves to the torture of waking-up two times in 24 hours?
We are those zombified creatures who need a good kick of jet fuel to join the land of the living. But you need to get out of bed to make it, and that’s a big problem. No matter how I imagine the smell, the taste, I cannot sit up. Getting to the kitchen for that tantalizing cup of cappuccino is one of the biggest challenges of my day.
I languish in the early morning light, my body still molded to the bed, sunk into my pillows. No thoughts. Sounds leading me back into sleep. Oh, just another 10 minutes or so.
Alas, the second alarm goes off. The cats have heard them. The quest toward the vertical has begun in earnest.
Hunger is stronger than the need for sleep. They will get me on my feet, no matter what, and the law of inertia will take hold as I gain my balance.
“An object at rest stays at rest, and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.”
~ Newton’s First Law
Xena, the Warrior Princess, claws my carpet and yowls in protest, her face taking on the features of Yoda. “I will destroy this rug; I will!”
Cesar, my playful tabby, is more sympathetic though no less persistent. He walks over and around my motionless body, meowing incessantly for 15 minutes.
Then the volume increases. He adds purs between the gripes and thrusts his wet nose into my neck. Yuk! Moisture. I pull my shoulder up reflexively.
He extends a paw, ever so gently, and taps my face one, two, three times. No claws mind you. He knows that’s going over the line.
Tap, tap, tap.
I open my eyes and peer into his pleading face, “Please, mommy, I’m hungry.”
He is encouraged and retreats a bit when my feet become visible from under the covers. I point and flex my toes, stretch.
Turn over. Repeat.
I’m in the home stretch.
My feet hit the rug, a chorus of meows erupts as Cesar and Xena race to the kitchen in anticipation. The sound reminds me of screeching gremlins. The end of their starvation is only moments away.
To the bowls! To the bowls!
Breakfast has begun.
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