Routine is everything to our cat, Gracie.
She wakes Studly Doright up at five every morning and makes him carry her to the kitchen for a treat.
After he leaves for work, she snuggles with me and insists I get up at six. While I shower, Gracie watches me from her ringside seat on the side of bathtub. She presides over my morning routine, ensuring that I take my vitamins, and calcium, and allergy meds, and well, you get the idea.
The day proceeds with Gracie allotting time for feeding, naps, and play when she’s not actively supervising my work. In the evening she lets us know it’s time to stretch out on one of the chairs on the screened-in porch by pawing at the patio door.
Bedtime routine with Gracie is reminiscent of my days of tucking in a toddler. She gets a bowl of her favorite wet food, a bit of playtime, then we snuggle into our bed. But Gracie isn’t ready to sleep.
She’ll jump off the bed in dramatic fashion and rush down the hallway to the kitchen. Soon she’ll come back toting a bag of treats in her mouth. If she can’t get to the cat treats, she’ll bring a bag of people food—nuts, trail mix—whatever comes closest to resembling her treats, so the gist of her message is clear—one last snack, please.
Once she gets what she wants Gracie disappears into one of the guest bedrooms for the night only reappearing in our room when it’s time to wake Studly up for work. And the routine begins again,
I wish Gracie had been around during the years I taught. I could’ve used a good scheduler.