Mornings, Cake and Sloths

Did you know? The sun now rises at 6:10AM. How rude! I adjusted to the late winter sun—not being able to go out for a walk until after 7:15. NOW, dawn—the best time of day for walkies—hits at 5:40? Also, after eons of cold, cold, wet weather, it’s gonna be in the upper 60s this week. 80º on Thursday!

I’m not ready for this. I need to be though. I’m not getting any younger or more nimble (understatement alert). Dawn is the best, least populated and most beautiful time of day for outdoor exercise. I no longer have the ice, snow and it’s too damn dark excuses.
IN THEORY I’m totally motivated to achieve better balance and greater mobility—it doesn't come naturally though. I hate being all disciplined and shit. I’ve had the winter to leisurely wake and lie abed trying to remember dreams and what the fuck’s on my schedule for today. My spirit animal is the three-toed sloth.

At any rate, I feel certain that a sloth is how Cake views me. He’s almost always up before me. Our visitor cats show up early and he, naturally, must be in his front porch window to say hello, supervise and break up potential fights. No, Cake doesn’t go outside but he will offer a stern admonishment or two as needed.

So far today our good boy has been enjoying the hell out of all the new toys that Jen put in his Easter basket. I believe that, like me, Cake is solidly agnostic BUT neither of us will pass a chance for dark choc-y (me) or catnip toys (him).

There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.
~ Albert Schweitzer

How we behave toward cats here below determines our status in heaven.
~ Robert A. Heinlein

IF there is a heaven, it will be populated by cats, there will be Italian roast coffee and pizzelle for breakfast and dark chocolate bon bons for elevenses (those are mine—cats don’t do chocolate). Also, for our fluffy angels, there will be endless plates of tuna, a smidgen of goat cheese and catnip.

Cats speak only to those who know how to listen.
~ Sigmund Feud

Cake seems to understand that I’m deaf but I DO in fact pay attention. When he wants something he comes up and sits by me. If I don’t notice him, he’ll claw at the chair or mattress. Not enough to cause much damage, just enough to get me to snap out of my book.

A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.
~ Ernest Hemingway

It’s undoubtedly best that I don’t speak cat. I don’t believe my delicate fee-fees could survive Cake’s undoubtedly scathing critiques of my odious sartorial statements and book selections. I’m sure he feels that Agatha Christie and Douglas Adams are utterly pedestrian. Cake can be a bit of a snob.

I wish that my writing was as mysterious as a cat.
~ Edgar Allan Poe