CATS.

Cats.

My mornings often begin with D’Oro running laps around the bedroom, bouncing off my head as he springs from dresser to dog crate to bed to windowsill to bed to dog crate. Meanwhile DeChelly sings the mournful song of the unfed cat from the hallway.

“All right, I’m up!” I grouse as I stumble toward the kitchen, cats racing ahead. Meanwhile my husband sits at his desk, headphones on, blissfully unaware of the drama. “Oh, hey, you’re up early,” he’ll say when he sees me.

And how do your mornings start?