Inspired by Eugène Delacroix (1798-1863) – Cat head (1824-1829) – Oil on canvas – 8,66 x 10,63 inch

So, it’s past eight in the morning. What is she up to? “Wake up morning” operation.

I get on the bed as heavily as possible, which in my big belly and little paws condition is my daily, and I just sniff the tip of her nose with my wet truffle while purring full lung and patasing on the sheets (translation: plant my sharp claws in the 100% cotton fabric). I am doing so for long minutes. Nothing ! Well, I can never be kept down. Second option, more noise and frustration. In theory, it’s an excellent response! Great ! With my left paw, I knock on the sliding door of the room, the one that contains all her clothes. A hell of the devil. And … no reaction. Not a damn thing!

But what’s wrong with her this morning? She went to bed too late or what? Although I was on her bed since the beginning of the evening and I didn’t notice anything wierd. I must admit that I fell asleep right away. I was so exhausted: between the trip in a box too small for a buxom cat (just imagine yourself in a shirt size 14.5 while you wear size 16. Well, that’s how I live!) And my unrelenting observation of green parakeets in the tree right next to the kitchen window (which fortunately has a fence, otherwise, I would have jumped from the top!). Cuddled, in my little corner, parallel to the bed and I’d better not make a move, not even an inch. In practice, when she is fast asleep, I shift perpendicular to the bed and there I am, feeling so well. No exception, when she wakes up in the middle of the night, I get a call to order …

To put it in a nutshell, the tragic situation of this awful morning, moreover a Monday morning, I’m starving, my bowl is empty and the person who is usually feeding me, decided to play Sleeping Beauty. A charming beginning of the week …

What strategy is left for me? A pee? A poop ?

Oops, she’s moving. She turns on the light. She gets up. She goes to the kitchen. And, oh yeeees, my kibbles. I’ve won!