My rude morning "alarm"

Most people set their alarm clock(s) and go to sleep expecting something between jolted awake or gently roused. That's what I expected.

I set mine for 8am, kind of expecting to have an olympic snooze-fest until maybe 9am. My cat had other plans. Come 7:45am he's all snuggly beside my pillow and I'm groggily thinking how adorable this 10 year old fuzzball is. As I'm dozing off, I hear retching sounds, kind of like the "glug glug" of drinking large gulps of water. The furry *kitten* is sitting up and about to deliver a special... semi-digested, uh... "present." I leap out of bed and grab a handful of tissues to hold before him *just* as he reintroduce me to his dinner. Lovely. At least it wasn't on my comforter.

You are thinking, "Well what is she complaining about, she saved her comforter. Stop complaining already." What you don't know (and probably don't want to know) is that my sweet little tabby is an expert at serial hurling. He never throws up in one go. So repeat with the handful of tissues, *glug*glug*glug*ehgch*... about four more times. The last round the little monster had the audacity to use his paw to push the tissues away so he could land one on my bed. Sigh. So I hurriedly wipe that off, thinking I'd need to wash the comforter anyway, and picked the cat up to put him on the floor where he can mess the carpet all he wants. I own two bottles of Resolve for that (side story, people look at you really funny if you forget that it's called Resolve, not Raid). Of course he no longer needs to expel anything.

So I crawl back into bed debating if I'm sleepy enough to overlook the fact that there is a wet, smelly blotch of cat puke residue on the topside of my comforter. I did this for less than a minute. Not because I dozed off, not because I had the willpower to get out of bed for the day, nope. It was because He-who-will-not-be-petted-today thought he was allowed on the bed again. By the time I finished shooing him off by flinging my blanket (think Linus from Peanuts), I was too awake to go back to sleep. The clock read 7:55am.

Anyway, I got up, had my first cup of water for the day, did my 20 minutes of JM's 30ds, had my second cup of water, made coffee and a delicious scrambled egg with spinach and smoked salmon (guess who didn't get a salmon treat?), and logged everything before 10am.

The furry stinker is sleeping on his "late morning" pillow now (he has a routine, it's odd but true), and he's giving me tired reproachful looks. Look buddy, I should be giving you those looks. If you want to get back into my good graces, I suggest you earn it. How about washing my bfast dishes? I could use a back rub too...

I adore the little beast, I do. And in a way I'm kind of appreciative that I had a productive morning on account of his being a prat. Does that make me forgiving or masochistic?