I Am a Morning Person Because That’s When I Hunt My Breakfast

I wake early. I leap out of bed ready to start the day by hunting for my breakfast. By hunting for my breakfast I mean waking the cat up. I pet him but he looks annoyed. I poke him in the belly — affectionately, of course. I put my hand on his face. Time to get up, buddy, time to feed me. Where’s my breakfast, huh? It’s been five hours since you last fed me so where’s my breakfast? C’mon, get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Okay, I’m going to have to bite you on the neck. Just a nibble. You leave me no choice. How’s that, will you get up and feed me now? Biologically speaking, I say, as he puts his paw over his head, I should be hunting but since you are my butler cat, you need to feed me. The cat gets up, giving me a glare. We go into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and pulls out an egg and fries it for me and puts the plate on the counter. I rub my back against him. Thanks, I love you! I say.