Rise and whine

I’m not a morning person. Ask anyone.

When I was a kid my folks had to use a garden hose to flush me out of bed if I were to get my newspapers delivered before the evening news came on. In college I tried to schedule classes as late in the day as possible because the night time was the right time, don’t you know.

As a dropout I worked a janitorial gig — total night shift, 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. And a couple years after I returned to college and got that old sheepskin my newspaper career settled down into shifts of mostly 4 p.m. to 1 a.m. on one copy desk or another.

Buddy enjoying a bracing chew


So, yeah. I don’t like mornings unless I can face them on my own terms. This means arising slowly, gradually, easing into the day as though it were an overly hot tub.

Alas, with Herself elsewhere, as she is today, that hot tub is more like an icy pond.

Herself does not object to mornings in principle. She gets up and gets busy, wrangling dog and cats and coffee, while I enjoy an extra hour or two of watching whichever movie happens to be showing on the inside of my eyelids. My participation in the morning ritual mostly involves sitting in the reading room, staring dumbly at the rumbling furnace register, as Turkish describes figure-eights around my ankles before leaping into the sink for a drink.

When Herself is in absentia, I have to assume a slightly more active role.

At dark-thirty Buddy sounds his version of “Reveille,” a single note — “Yap!” — as the imprisoned cats drag the hallway carpet underneath the basement door. Unless I want to hear it again — and again, and again, and again — I have to drag my big ass out of bed and chuck his little ass outside.

Next I liberate the Turk’ and Miss Mia Sopaipilla, who demand a hearty breakfast after their long, dark night of unconstitutional detention without charge or even probable cause. The former gets straight to work on a bowl of kibble while the latter enjoys an aperitif of heavy whipping cream before diving into the crunchies.

A depleted Buddy rejoins the party and gets his own bowlful of breakfasty goodness, after which I stumble downstairs to see what fresh horrors the cats have left in the litter box. After a nostril-scorching few moments of turd dispersal I totter back upstairs to get the coffee started, which involves a bit of dishwashing as some eejit forgot to run the dishwasher last night.

As the java bubbles, so does Buddy. Full of chow and good humor, he locates a toy and begins chomping on it rhythmically — squeaka squeaka squeaka — as I pour a cup and try to decipher the morning news. Squeaka squeaka squeaka makes more sense than pretty much anything being attributed to Those In Authority. The temptation to add a dollop of 12-year-old Redbreast to the coffee is nearly irresistible.

Happily, things begin to settle down and the whiskey bottle remains corked. It’s time for the post-breakfast nap. Mia snoozes in a donut atop the ’fridge, while Buddy beds down in his kennel. The Turk’ is last to fade. In his capacity as field marshal of the 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment he inspects the perimeter from various windowsills before finally settling down in the Tower of Power in the living room.

Peace. At last. Time to get some work done.

Squeaka squeaka squeaka. …

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12 Responses to “Rise and whine”

  1. weaksides (@weaksides) Says:

    My father-in-law has said it best Patrick…”most pain in life is self-inflicted”.

  2. BruceM Says:

    If God wanted us to see the sunrise, she would have scheduled it later in the day! Let it be written; let it be said.

  3. Debby Says:

    On the other hand, I am more of a morning person. I just don’t like getting up when it’s still dark out. Mornings are my most productive time of the day. By 9 pm or so I’m done. Now that the days are getting longer again, I’m usually up around 6:30 am or so. I may be blissfully underemployed now but I’m busier than ever. Don’t know how I ever found time for a full-time job all those years!

  4. Libby Says:

    The squeaka wheel gets the grub. Grrr.
    Ok that was bad. But, seriously, when do you get to drink the wine?

  5. Derek Says:

    Sleep when your dead

  6. Libby Says:

    Just realized that the squeak toy appears in the photo with dear Buddy. I should look at a computer monitor more often – I use my phone most of the time nowadays.

  7. weaksides (@weaksides) Says:

    Oh…and about the addition of whisky to the coffee,no one was there to stop or shame you for it (aka “herself”), I fail to see the problem. After all, it’s always 5:00 somewhere.

    Better still, when in doubt ask yourself “what would the good doctor do”?

  8. weaksides (@weaksides) Says:

    Well shit Patrick…for the first time in 42 years living here, I’m ashamed to be from the state of NC. The gobshites came out in droves today and made us equal with other bastions of Southern-American society like AL, MS, and SC.

    Back in 2008 at least we went for Obama. I hoped we were evolving beyond Jesse Helms. FUCK.

    • john Says:

      But — but — this is different. It’s teh Gays, you know. In the Bible, Jesus says we should hate them.

      Oh, wait a minute …

  9. David R Says:

    Slightly off topic, or, maybe not, do yourselves a favor and read Mr. Pierce’s column on Santorum this morning. Top notch, as always:


    “And have I mentioned recently what a colossal dick the man is?”

    The guy kills me…

    • john Says:

      Hear, hear! Pierce is brilliant. “Idiot America” is a must-read for those who wish to understand our current predicament.

  10. Cranky Cyclist Says:

    If there is a Pulitzer Price for blogging, this post should earn it. Very funny and worthy of a nationally syndicated column. Bravo!

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