Their days usually start off with Franny driving me insane with whatever toy she wants to play fetch with. Usually it’s a disgusting fuzzy sock that’s been dragged across all corners of the apartment.
Felix is a prince and stays asleep on the wooden chest next to our bed until I wake up and go to the bathroom. Franny will be instantly offended that she wasn’t invited (I think my cat might be a 16 year old girl) and mew in the hallway.
I’ll make my way into the kitchen for breakfast, where Franny will barrel-roll over my feet as I chop potatoes. Once Chris wakes up he starts the coffee, and cursing can be heard across the apartment as Franny barrel-rolls over his feet.
When breakfast is ready, we watch the Daily Show with Jon Stewart while we eat. These days Chris likes to squeeze some Skyrim in before heading off to work in the early afternoon, so I entertain myself on the iPad inbetween scolding the cats for jumping on tables and knocking things over while in hot pursuit of each other. 1 o’clock wrestling hour is something I’m yet to document.
Around 2pm they settle down for a bath before plunging into the deepest sleep at 3pm — which just so happens to be my most productive hour around the house. Coincidence? I think not.
You can’t tell from these photos, but usually Franny will only take so much of Felix’s forced grooming before getting irritated and sulking off to some warm corner of the apartment.
As I type this, it’s 3:02pm and the cats look like sweet angels, curled up in the papasan. But I know the truth!