On the weekend, The Boy gets up much earlier than me. I am, by nature, more of a night owl. This means that The Boy falls asleep on the couch on Saturday night. Then he’ll decide that if he’s sleeping he might as well be in bed. I follow a couple hours later.
And, before we head to bed at 1 or 2 a.m., Kitten Thunder hits me up for breakfast. Last night, Oliver was insistent about breakfast. He was starving TO DEATH and could not wait until morning.
“If I feed you,” I said, “do you promise that you won’t wake me up at the crack of dawn?”
Yes, yes of course, he promised. So Obi and Oli got some breakfast.
This morning, Oliver wanted breakfast. He stomped. He cried. He headbutted me. I rolled over and gave him a look. “You promised me that you wouldn’t beg for breakfast this morning.”
The grey kitten looked at me. He looked out the window. He looked back at me. It was, in fact, well past dawn. Promise kept.
The Boy got up shortly after. I heard him open a can of breakfast for the kittehs. Soon after that, a full and happy grey kitten came back to bed. Night owls sleep in.