Living with an elderly cat is like living with an infant:
don't wake her up! Every pillow-rustle, sheet-twist,
every voiced exhalation (let's not mention snores)
and she's up and demanding food. Can't leave the food
dish filled up as the plump younger cat is dieting.
Can't close the bedroom door because younger cat
will scratch and meow, excluded. So. Awake awake awake.
Meow meow meow. Coupled with middle-aged hormones
the result is scattered dreams and sleepus interuptus.
Pulled my sludgy self from the bed this morning
to make breakfast for P.. I shuffled into the kitchen,
slippers flapping-half-off, bathrobe belt askew,
and sat down at the kitchen table and laid my head
upon its oak surface. Ooof. Fuzzy brain.
I was a veritable feast for my new husband's eyes!
(Perhaps the honeymoon is over....)
Fried up some peppercorn-bacon and eggs, over easy,
toasted two slices of oat bran bread. Made tea.
Made coffee. Poured Cheerios. Poured milk.
Ate. Went back to bed.