October 10, 2004: A Cat's Life

Each weekday at 7:25 I hear my next-door neighbor leave her apartment for work. This may well be the best part of my day. I roll over in bed, finding a more comfortable position among the pillows and sheets. The skies are invariably clear this time of year and morning sunlight streams in through the blinds. The remnants of dreams linger in the bedclothes, scurry into the corners, before dissipating into the blue sky. There is nowhere that I need to be. I'll reclaim those scraps of dreams that remain. My mind will breakfast on them while my body drifts away again.
I'll wake when I want to, and face each day fully restored.

This won't last. There are bills. There is rent. There is a resume I haven't yet set to work on. I'll savor these mornings while I can.