The alarm goes off, and the cats know exactly what that means…
Cats: Woo-hoo! Breakfast! [this is expressed through painfully loud meows, and three sets of feet running over my prostrate body]
Me: *mumble incoherently*
Cats: Breakfast! NOW!
I stumbled out of bed, grab a can of food, as they all swarm around my feet, meowing. Dividing the can of food into portions takes too long for them, and they start grabbing my leg and trying to jump up on the counter. I put the dishes down, and they briefly quibble over who gets what dish (nevermind that it’s the same portions of the same food), but soon enough the food has completely disappeared.
Once they’ve eaten, they need to be put away so Beeper can eat. She has this weird psychological thing going on where she won’t eat food if it’s all piled on her plate at once (this on top of not eating dry food, or chunky food in gravy). So I have to feed her one spoonful at a time. Usually takes her 10-15 minutes to finish a 3 oz can.
After that, she either goes out for the day or she heads down to my brother’s room, her “lair”. But it’s spring in New England and outside are torrential downpours, so she saunters down the hall and jumps onto Stephen’s bed for a bath and a long nap.
Meanwhile, in my room, the bunnies are *literally* bouncing off the walls of their cage, throwing toys, jangling their bell, and grabbing the cage door and shaking it for all it’s worth. I grab their pre-bagged salad out of the fridge, note that I’m running low on veggies, and shuffle back into my room. The instant I open their door, they leap out and wildly circle my feet. I grab their dish, and being careful to avoid stepping on Rex, I dump the bag of salad into it. I then hold them back with one arm while I set the dish in the cage with the other. The instant I move, they descend like snorting vultures…
While everyone’s munching, I check the hamster’s food and water levels, and scoop out his litterbox. Yes, the hamster has a litterbox, and he’s very well trained too. I give him a few leftover veggies from the bunnies’ salad and a Milkbone, and some mornings he’ll crawl out of his igloo all bleary-eyed, grab the food, and disappear again. I know that somewhere, deep, deep, deep down he’s grateful.
I grab the last handful of hay out of the bin, and refill the bunnies’ rack. I’ll need to get some more hay from outside; they’ll empty the rack by late this afternoon.
And just my luck: it’s raining.
I don a poncho and boots, and brave the foul weather, quickly refilling the bin and rushing back inside. I do not, however, manage to avoid slipping in the deep, muddy puddle right next to the steps. My right leg, in my pajama pants, is filthy and soaked to the knee.
Setting the cats loose again, I quickly change while they commence the morning activities: stalking, ambushing, running, chasing, wrestling, tearing over the furniture and sounding like a minor stampede. Beeper is snuggled into bed, and the rabbits are doing their post-meal grooming. It’s nearly an hour since I woke up and I have yet to brush my teeth, put my hair up, or grab a bite to eat. And the day has only begun.
But you know what? I’m lovin’ every minute of it.
