Our cat, Tuesday, starts off every morning pretty much the same. As soon as either of us open the bedroom door, she is right there with a rapid succession of short meows and mews to let us know that she is STARVING! and please feed her. I usually just kick her out of the way and use the bathroom, and not so that when I emerge from there to hear her lovely “Feed Me” song over again. And so we walk together to the laundry room, where she is continuing to spew out her meows with every step she takes, open the cabinet under the utility sink where we keep her food, watch her walk inside the cabinet, scoop out a scant ¼ cup of food (she’s been on a vet-mandated restricted diet for 4 years now, but that’ll be another post), fill her bowl, and then she starts eating. Sometimes just for fun, I close the cabinet while she is in there.
Then it is time to feed the pond fish, which usually reside on the deck, but during the winter we bring them inside. Last year we had them in the garage, this year, because of the unfinished half-bath project, they are in there. And surprisingly, we haven’t lost one. Hardy goldfish, they are… all eleven of them.
By this point, Tuesday has realized that I am no long watching her eat, and so she rams the back of my leg with another short burst of ear-piercing mews until I turn around and wait for her to finish eating. I indulge her for a second or two, but then walk out into the kitchen to feed Lucy, our dog.
Lucy is a Great Dane, and although she is on the small side, is still a rather large dog. Now, as a puppy, she was sweet and obedient and perfect. As an adult, she is anxious, easily excited, an abundance of allergies, and has constant yeast infections all over her body. To curb some of her allergies, we buy a grain-free food at the feed store which has way too much protein for her breed, but she loves it and won’t go back to the fish and potato diet she was on before. And yes, we had blood and urine tests done to make sure she isn’t acidic from the high protein food, and even her vet is surprised at how neutral everything is. Anyway, I’ll talk more about Lucy at a later date. I fill her bowl with 2½ cups of food, which usually wakes her from her slumber on the couch, make her sit outside the kitchen using a hand signal that she recognizes as “sit”, walk over and give her any medication she happens to be on at the moment, then tell her “okay” and she rushes over to her food and proceeds to eat.
Now, Tuesday has again realized I am not watching her eat, and with another round of meows and figure-eights around my legs, she tries to catch my attention, sees that she has it, and runs back into the laundry room, where I quickly and without thinking, close the door behind her so I can make coffee.
Okay, so I’ve got the coffee going, now it is time to feed the aquarium fish, which is filled with variously acquired specimens. Two of these fish we never see; the plecostomus and the loach. The plecostomus is by far the largest fish in the aquarium, however, he/she spends its day one of two rock-like structures, instead of eating the algae on the tank walls. The loach, which was given to us by my brother, is at least ten years old, and can usually be found either hiding under the rock-like structures, or the plastic plants, or even in the gravel. I drop a couple pinches of tropical fish food in and turn on their light and now Lucy is rubbing up against my butt to push me out of the way as she heads for the sliding glass door to the backyard, where she rings her bell and sits. Yes, we have a bell for her to ring to let us know she needs to go potty, and yes it works.
So I open the door and tell her, “Okay, go potty!” and she steps out onto the patio, notices that it is raining, and wants back in. Meanwhile the chickens are squawking up a storm begging to be let out. At this point I’m yelling at the dog to just go potty, which doesn’t work. I close the door, get my outside shoes on, and walk her up the stairs to the upper part of the backyard, and tell her to go potty, and she walks around sniffing out a good place to relieve herself. Really? Does anyone else have to escort their dog outside to go potty?
Well, now that I’ve walked all the way up here, I may as well open up the door to the coop and let the chickens out, and all eight of them fly away from the coop and head to the back patio door underneath a bird feeder that a squirrel is trying to pry black-oil sunflower seeds from. Now, most of them just run, but our Easter Egger, Alternate Universe Cordelia (our first Cordelia broke her leg and was pecked to death by the other chickens afterwards), actually flies from the coop to the backdoor, which is at least fifty feet away.
Lucy’s done going potty, so we head back inside the house where I pour myself a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee, sit down on the couch to read a chapter or two from whatever book I’m reading at the moment, and just before I take my first sip, I hear a bang from the kitchen, which I realize is Tuesday ramming her body against the door between it and the laundry room to open it, which means I have to get up and open it to let her out, or she’ll keep pounding away until she does.
Oh, how I love the morning routine before coffee!
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