There are worse ways to be awakened than with a paw pat on the face. Ralph seems to be developing a pattern here. It's not that I mind, it's his sense of timing. I normally wake up on my own at 5:00. Ralph's clock is set for 4:45 a.m. Why those fifteen minutes are important at o'dark-thirty, I can't say, but I resent their loss. Ralph is relentless, patting and butting until he's sure I'm not going back to sleep. Ralph's purr box is defective; he snorts and gurgles when he's happy, and he's happy when I finally open my eyes and wish him good morning. Like that woman in "Fatal Attraction," he will not be ignored. Bessie Anne and Celeste are perfectly willing to sleep until sunup. It's typical of Ralph that he pushes the envelope. He rarely walks anywhere. He darts here and there, skids around corners in the kitchen, races up and down the stairs. Unlike his sister, Ralph hasn't the patience to sit in my lap for long. He runs from open door to window, and from one window to another. He wants to see it all and he wants to see it now!
I've had my coffee, checked my email, scrolled through FaceBook. The sun isn't up yet but, thanks to Ralph, I am. I'm not sure the world is ready for Ralph.