The Literate Kitty

I am a creature of habit. Kind of. (Okay, not exactly, but for the purpose of this piece, let’s just go with that.) As a “for instance”, there are certain crack-o’-dawn rituals which -- once His Royal Furry Highness has finally succeeded in herding me downstairs to pour breakfast kibble into his empty, waiting bowl, of course -- I typically follow, such as making my morning vitamin-drink, then assuming a comfortable position on the sofa to either nap a bit or read for a spell. (The latter is a toss-up, depending in part on what time I finally fell asleep the previous “night”, whether my inevitable headache is at a level of “tolerable for now” or “explosion imminent”, and how much excitement there is for whatever I’m currently reading.) Another ritual involves feeding His Fuzziness right before starting my daily late-afternoon/early-evening workout. There’s no getting around it; it’s just something we both expect to happen, at more or less the same time each day. (By now, you’re think