Here is my Monday morning routine:
I go to bed around 11:00 PM the night before, but my brain doesn’t shut down until around 5:00 AM.
Then at 6:00 AM, my husband’s alarm goes off. He hits snooze. At 6:05 AM, his cell phone alarm goes off. He hit snooze.
This continues for the next hour and a half.
Moppet gets excited about how her humans are alive after all. So she hops on the bed and starts dancing; specifically on me – she doesn’t care about my husband.
I don’t have to start getting ready for work until 8:00. So hell if I’m getting out of bed any earlier than the last minute. That’s my plan anyway.
My husband eventually gets up. Then he closes the door in an attempt to not disturb me while he grinds coffee beans. So I get trapped in the bedroom alone with the evil menace that is Moppet.
Then Moppet needs to use the litterbox. Rather than scratching at the door or howling or doing something to indicate she needs to go, she instead uses me as her litterbox.
OK, I’m up!
I shove her off, change the sheets, and get in the shower. At some point while I’m in the shower, Moppet has snuck into the bathroom and vomited all over the shower mat. I step into it as soon as I get out.
Then begins the mad hunt for clothes. My side of the closet is empty. All of the clean clothes are still outside in the laundry room. So I go outside in my bathrobe to retrieve clothes. Mind you, I live in a city on a busy street, so yes, this is as awkward as it sounds. And I live in a neighborhood full of human swine and I’m a woman, so the spotlight is on me as soon as I exit the house.
I find in the laundry room a load in the washer and a load in the dryer. I grab the dry clothes and move the wet clothes to the dryer. I go back in the house.
The forecast is 80 degrees. I dig through and find the one short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants that don’t belong to my husband.
But socks are the biggest challenge. Fortunately though, I manage to scrounge up a single matching pair of socks that don’t have holes in them.
As soon as I’m dressed and exit the bedroom, I step in fresh Moppet puke. Since when does Moppet puke on hardwood floors??
So I put on a pair of unmatched holey socks.
I feed the cats. Odinn’s liver disease will get aggravated if he eats Moppet’s food. So I need to set her food up high on her cat tree because he doesn’t know how to get up there. And if Moppet eats Odinn’s food, she’ll get diarrhea, so I need to lock him up while he eats. And he is the slowest eater of all time.
In the meantime, I brush my teeth. Then toothpaste falls on my shirt. Right on my boob. I get it off, but there’s still a big splotch on my boob.
So I need to change my shirt. The rest of my 80-degree weather clothes are wet in the dryer, so I find a nice, warm sweater to die in for the day.
After about 20 minutes, I check on Odinn. He’s busy staring at a full bowl of food. I open a new can and hope it’s more to his liking.
Next, I brush my hair. Then I step in freshly made Moppet puke. I go change my socks once again. I manage to scrounge up a Halloween sock, with holes in it, and a Christmas sock, with holes in it.
After about 20 minutes, I check on Odinn. He’s still sitting there, staring at his fucking food.
So I dig out the Fancy Feast. 20 minutes later, he has touched his food. But it’s all over the floor and his face because he’s an asshole.
I give him some more time…
After about 20 more minutes, he has eaten at least most of his food. Good enough. I clean up the rest of his mess.
By now I’m like 6 hours late for work.
I go to put Odinn’s food bowl in the sink, and on my way, I step in fresh Moppet puke.
This is the point where I kick the cats out of the house and bring them back to where they came from.
Now with the cats taken care of, I can finally go to work. But rather than go straight to work, I go downstairs to my secret lair, where I keep my prisoners. My prisoners consist of everyone who tried to make small talk with me throughout the previous week.
Usually, they greet me by saying things like, “How has your day been so far?”, “Got any plans for the weekend?”, “What is with this weather?” or “Happy Monday!”. I tell them to make me coffee, and they typically make up some excuse like, we don’t have coffee. Then I select one prisoner to sacrifice – usually the blithering idiot who said “good morning”. I chop them into tiny bits and eat them for breakfast.
But today is different. Today is special. Today is Monday. I haven’t yet had the opportunity to replenish my supply. So I enter the lair and to my horror, we are completely out of prisoners.
So I light everything on fire.
I go back upstairs, call work, quit my job, and go back to bed.