The Lady of the Manor

Of course she is tired now, the sun is up.

I have become a slave in my own home. Early each morning, between the awful hours of 3:00 and 5:00, I am disturbed. First the small, whiskered face, with the cold nose shoved into mine. Then the trilled purr in my ear. Then the scratching of the bed posts. A thrown pillow only offers a short silence... next the small rude Prima Donna is walking over my head. Finally, that hairy, shedding, furball-hacking monster is turning on the radio. Why was the "sleep" button ever invented? Oh, now I know! So that crazy felines can up the ante and drag me from my warm bed.

I stumble down the hall, muttering... open the container... scoop the food into the bowls... nothing... the cat isn't even in sight... I look in the living room... there she is, staring at me, from under the Christmas Tree... (I am going to have to put that tree back in storage)... she wants to play... NO... I return to the food bowls... I whistle and the Lady of the Manor's sister strolls in, followed by bold, head held high, Queen of this domain, "Yes, you may go now, but you shall be punished later for your insolence", she dismisses me with a shake of her tail.

I hate that thing this early in the morning. I wickedly slide shut the doors, locking her in the kitchen. I return to bed for a few more hours of sleep... only to be awoken by scratching at the door as she demands her subjects pay obeisance...