C is for Cat

Source: Me

At 3 o’clock in the morning, you wake me from a sound slumber.  I bolt upright in bed, not knowing exactly why.  My thoughts come slowly as sleep fights that tiny burst of adrenaline while I try to figure out what woke me.  Logic quickly concludes it was you.

I get up, throw the covers off and curse the cold, then pad into the kitchen.  The floor is littered with the pots and pans that I’d washed before bed.  The mental fog clears and my mind makes sense of the puzzle. 

One of your impossible acrobatic acts has failed you and rewarded me with the absurdly violent clatter of cookware tumbling off the kitchen counter- which you shouldn’t be on, anyway.

"Harry!" I angrily whisper, but you're nowhere to be found.

I search the small apartment looking for you, searching for your tail protruding from under the couch or some other sign of your hiding place.  Then I remember that it's the middle of the night and I have work in the morning.

I retreat to the bathroom for a glass of water, mumbling curses at you under my breath.  Then I hear a small, tentative meow and look down to see you looking back up at me, with that overwhelming set of charms that makes you you.

Who could possibly stay mad at you?