The morning routine: listen to the birds and contemplate life until Mr. Boo takes a flying leap to the chest, leaving no doubt as to how soon I need to get out of bed. Feet on the floor, stretch. Open Beaner's door and let PurC out, pit stop in the bath, then the Whisker Run Obstacle Course to the kitchen. If I'm lucky, I make it with no bruised toes and banged-up ankles and with all articles still in their rightful places on desk and shelves.

PurC heads for the scratching post, The Princessa slinks under the chairs to take up her defensive position while Mr. Boo heads off to the box for his morning constitutional. This gives me a clear sprint to the sink. Fill the coffee pot (one of these days, I will decide to set the automatic brew.) Grab the cat food can and pop the lid, alerting the slinky one that breakfast is imminent and he must now keep me captive at my post until the job is done by winding himself around my ankles. Can upside down on the Boomer's plate - he's a gravy fan. A dollop on PurC's plate and place it on the floor before I go headlong into the stove. Another dollop and mash on The Princessa's, served up to a chorus of "hurry up, I need to get this eaten and get out of here before that juvenile starts up again." Then a mash and mix for Mr. Boo, more gravy than meat, a little more to PurC. By this time Princessa is done and itching to get out the door. PurC finishes his plate and whatever's left on the others, then heads downstairs. The course is down and it's safe to grab the coffee and head to the sunroom, check out the day, and write my morning pages (ok, not faithfully, but I'm getting better.) A little time to myself before the StringBean wakes.

It's nice to have a routine.