Mornings

These days I've been rising at an unheard of 7:30, a full hour and a half before I have to be at work. My parents, if they read this, would scoff. Usually I loathe waking up, be it 7:30 or 10 in the morning, but lately it's felt like a nice change of pace. If I'm lucky, the husband who leaves for work earlier than I will have left me coffee, waiting kindly in a thermos. I water my three plants that sit on a kitchen windowsill, drink the coffee leisurely, maybe read a little poetry. Usually ignore the cat.

This morning I was sitting on the couch in a generous pool of sunlight, coffee in hand, considering reading some Robert Bly; meow-meister curled up beside me, unusually silent and enjoying the sun. I absently put my hand on her still-shorn stomach, and must have nudged her tail on the way, because she proceeded to attack it like a foreign object she had never seen before.

So far that's been the highlight of my day.