Some people say they own cats. Others say their cats own them. I prefer to think of it as sharing living space with a wonderfully unique animal. So Cheryl and I share living space with Callie the Cat. When I give her name like that, it's almost as if I were talking about royalty, as in Her Royal Highness Callie the Cat; and I suppose we do treat her that way sometimes.

Callie has her own bed. It is a blanket that we have folded several times so that it is the right size for her, and it is on our bed at the foot between Cheryl's side and my side. There is plenty of room down there for her, and sometimes she actually sleeps there. However, she has other beds of her own choosing. Sometimes she sleeps on the back of the sofa so that she can keep watch on the front yard if needed. Other times she uses one of the cushions on the sofa, one of the easy chairs in the living room, or the carpet at the top of the stairs where it is nice and warm; but she especially likes Cheryl's or my chest when she comes in from the cold outside.

However, when she thinks it is time for me to get out of bed in the morning, she uses none of these. I sleep on my side with my knees drawn up just a little, so when seen from above, I look like a giant question mark with just enough room between my chest and the edge of the bed for Callie. Whe she thinks it is time for me to get out of bed, she lies there with just a few inches between her face and mine and waits patiently for a few minutes until I wake up. Sometimes, especially when it is 5 AM, I doze back off. She will again wait patiently for a few minutes but then reach out her paw and tap my face.

At that point what can I do except get up and either open the door so that she can go outside or follow her into the laundry room to show her that there really is food already in her bowl?