She hasn't been sleeping well lately, probably because of the heat. This morning she nudged me awake: "You're going have to get ready for work on your own. I'm exhausted. I've got to sleep more." I got up. She stayed in bed.
Almost immediately a flock of jays gathered in the yard for an important 5:30 a.m. conference. They squawked and screeched and scolded, their voices raised together in a cacophonous chorus that nobody could sleep through.
Then I heard my alarm go off. Kris hates when I forget to turn off my alarm while she's still in bed. I cringed, knowing that she was cursing me as she fumbled to stop the noise.
The jays took a seed break and all was quiet for a while. However, they soon returned to look after unfinished business. They yelled and screamed some more. This time they were joined by a pair of cranky crows, who cawed their support for one jay plan or another.
Kris came downstairs before I left. She wasn't happy. I tried to strike up a conversation. "When did the cats come in?" I asked.
"At 4:30," she said. "Nemo started yowling and yowling. He was hungry." Both of the boys have been boycotting the house since I brought the kittens home the other night. They're refusing even to come in to eat — a hunger strike in protest of the interlopers. (The kittens are all now back at the shop, by the way.)