So one of my favouritist things this past year has been getting up early to write my novel. Typically this involves sneaking out of bed, down the hall, and over to the far end of the living room. There is a gas fireplace, a comfy couch (actually more than one, but there’s one that is my preferred nesting spot), a place to plug in my laptop, a view out to the backyard (even though it’s typically pitch black at this time of year), and…Dave.
Dave has been my writing companion more mornings than not. He is also an early riser and is usually awake before I am. Typically he greets my arrival to that corner of the house by rolling onto his back and lying belly up. In that respect, he is not much different from my fiancé. But Dave is a cat. I generally give him (Dave) a gentle belly rub in response even though I’m not really so much a ‘cat person’, and so he tolerates me.
As a result Dave tends to respect my quiet time, and doesn’t try to sit on the keyboard or do anything much beyond give that squinty eyed look some cats do when they’re fighting off sleep…or maybe plotting world domination.
At least that is true until the coffee arrives.
The coffee doesn’t show up until 6am or so when my younger future sister-in-law awakes. Somehow the ritual just happened organically. She claims to enjoy the zen ritual of coffee preparation. It’s part of her own waking up routine and she’ll often make me a coffee without making one for herself.
When she brings it over to where I’m parked amongst the pillows and blankets I’ll get a ‘good morning’ hug from her and then Dave moves into his phase 2 plan. Whether it’s jealousy of the hug, or he likes the smell of coffee on my breath, or maybe he just figures I’ve written enough by that point…but for whatever reason it becomes ‘Dave Time’.
He’ll pounce onto the couch with all the agility a somewhat overweight cat can muster, and then squirm his way onto my lap. Purring follows. Writing stops.
And here we are now…