Bed

This is how the mornings go. My Chi-Gong phone alarm goes off at 5:30 but I don't normally get out of bed until 6. Duncan will move from the bed to his pillow at the foot while the cats, particularly Olive, follow me around as I stumble down the dark hallway, through the living room and into the kitchen where I turn on the small light above the stove and turn the kettle on for tea. Olive coils herself around my feet while Pip takes up his spot in front of the food dish, yowling as though I've forgotten to feed him every day of his life. Winnie stays on the back of the couch where she watches the rest of us with bemused indifference. Only Duncan doesn't move. He curls up on the pillow and doesn't get up until it's time for his morning walk.

This morning, though, after I'd made the bed and jumped in the shower, after I'd prepared my lunch and even Duncan's breakfast, after I'd pulled the blinds and discovered a snowy world where the temperature hovered around two degrees, Duncan still hadn't appeared. I stepped back into the bedroom and found him in a nice cozy spot, shameless and unapologetic.

He'd somehow crawled back under the comforter I fold up at the foot of the bed, slid around and snuggled under it with his head poking out.

It took some coaxing, but eventually we made it outside, although after he finished his breakfast and before I'd even left, he was back up on the bed and under the covers. Clearly he had his priorities straight.