A spectrum of seven coloured pencils

Every morning after my alarm, I am generally woken by one cat in particular, Spots. The cats aren’t allowed in the bedroom (it’s their one house rule) and so when she hears me move she starts mewing/miaowing/howling/flinging herself at the door (pick whichever may be appropriate dependant on how hungry she is). Now in the days when it was just me and Buster (at which time the bedroom was available to the resident cat) he would just chew my toe.

Buster, I should point out, is a fairly regal cat. Things will be done his way and when he’s good and ready. From the day he arrived in my life (another tale entirely) he was always the cat I know and love now, he’s just a bit larger. Then I met my now Husband who loves Buster but hates the obligatory malting fur so a compromise was reached. The bedroom was off-limits. Buster in his calm and inimitable way accepted this and would only sometimes make an incredibly cute squeak at the bedroom door.

We upscaled our home and Spots joined the family. As different from Buster as black from white (or black from ginger…see what I did there?) Spots had been fed in her prior life but not well cared for. When integrating into our family she didn’t understand the comfy proposition of a human lap or strokes. A year and a half later I have a different cat; a noisy incredibly verbal (will sometimes yowl for no reason) cat. She also loves strokes, nose kisses, belly rubs, the list does go on. I am fully and completely hers. I suspect the morning wake-up call is not just a demand for food but time for her daily cat/human loves and so I don’t grumble at the cat interruption, instead I get out of bed and follow my cats wishes.