Early Morning


Wherein Our Heroine Has a Slow Start.
My brain is hard to jump-start this morning. I went to an a capella vocal show last night which was delightful, but ruined the early-to-bed part of Mr. Franklin's formula for health, wealth, and wisdom (no wonder I have none of the three). My husband (John Smith: International Terrorist) is at a conference, so the following farce played out this morning in the Smith matrimonial bedroom:

5:30 AM

MacIntosh: Tentative whine.

Our Heroine: Mac, go to bed.

[Rustling and thump on dog bed]

[Heavy thump of two cats landing on bed. Dash does annoying digging-action on duvet. Simon thumps down between OH's feet.]

[Oblivion]

6:00 AM

Mac: Vociferous barks at the paper-delivery man.

OH: Mac, go to bed.

[Rustling and thump on dog bed, accompanied by hrrrumph-noises, which roughly translate to, "That bastard. Comes here every day. I'll get him tomorrow."]

[Gentle rustling of cats roaming about bed. Si abandon's his post at OH's feet and walks up and down her back, finally settling his 12-pound body in the exact center of her spine.]

[Oblivion]

6:30 AM

Mac: HnnnnnrrrrrrOUUUUF!

[Dog nose and two bright brown dog-eyes appear at edge of bed. OH's hand reaches out and every millimeter is thoroughly licked. Si roams up and down the bed, purring loudly at the thought of breakfast, lovely breakfast.]

And so, the day begins.

Posted: Thursday - October 14, 2004 at 09:01 AM         | |

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