This is the time my author wakes. She is not a morning human. She rises from the bed looking like a tree with her headfur all a mess and a trail of drool hanging from her mouth. She flails around until her limbs steady and then makes her way to the room where the big container of water exists.
I don’t understand why the humans try to drown themselves in water. I have accepted this and no longer fret over it. Humans are strange, but they do smell better when they have almost-drowned, so I can’t complain. My brother, the one that talks all the time, has not. He sits in the water room and makes sure the humans survive. He says he likes to play in the tub and check its structural integrity before our humans use it. I just stared at him and blinked when he told me this.
During this time, I nap.
When my author makes her way to the kitchen, I enter half-nap. She bangs around in there and gets food and makes coffee or tea to go into her author cup.
I enter quarter-nap with one eye open.
Once things quiet down and I know she has eaten, I rise and stretch. The sunlight makes me wince, but I don’t let it hold me back. I make sure to stretch well, every claw on my paw and fur on this feline gets a good pre-work stretch.
The trick is not to wake the brothers as I leave my nap place. If they wake up, it’s constant mewing and they get in the way as I try to work.
I sit there, a sentinel, reminding my author to work until she stands steadily on her feet.
Sometimes, the author moves stuff around the house aimlessly. Clearing paths and carefully laid toys. I’m not sure why they do this. They call it cleaning.
If cleaning happens, I keep napping and wake much later. Once cleaning is done, I guide my author to her writing room. She sits down and begins working. Now is time for more napping.
I place myself on her lap to ensure she does not move until she has done some writing. This, I find, is the best way to ensure the author does not leave their desk. It’s hard work.