Out of my paws

One of the joys of retirement is getting up when I want.

It might be 5:30 to watch BBC's Hardtalk. Or I might select to read one more chapter then one more until I finish the book at 10:39.

There are a few mornings, of course, where an early morning appointment (which I try never to make) my bladder or hunger drive me out of bed, but even those have an element of my choice.

Not today. One housemate is in the New Forest. No. 2 son left for Paris to join his sweetie.

Thus it was a rude reminder of my office days when Munchkin informed me in no uncertain times that I was to get out of my war bed and let her out and that she had no intention of using her litter box, which although clean she considers beneath her except in emergencies.

I obeyed. And writing this was interrupted by equally plaintive meows on the roof outside my window where she had climbed to inform me that her majesty was ready for reentry.



photo taken during an earlier summons.