What's black, white and a big whiner?

Somewhere between sleep and awake there's a huge lump of fur and fat. This morning it's sitting on my chest, meowing the equivalent of the cliche rooster at the ass-crack of dawn. Dawsey, she's the black-and-white feline terror that cannot be right with the world if she doesn't climb upon our bed and perch on a slumbering sternum and force one of us awake.

I prefer my alarm clock, thankyouverymuch.

And so starts a weekday morning. It makes me wonder if Dawsey has some divine understanding of calendars because rarely does her episodic meowing take place on a weekend. From her jolting pleas in felinese, one of us rolls out of bed to then rouse the other. This morning is a damp and dreary one, with leftovers of last night's cacophony dripping from the weighted branches and cascading from our gabled roof.

Coffee. Toothpaste. Scone. Climb into the Jeep and off we go.

Dave drops me gently at the train station.

"Have a good day, sweetie. I love you."

(Incoherent mumbling)

"Okay, have a good day now. I love you sweetie."

"I'll try," I slowly return, trying my best to come off as misanthropic as possible despite this mornings bittersweet adieu.

I'm being ripped from the womb when I hop out of the Jeep in my skirt and heels. It's like being a toddler alone in a big, cold grocery store when he pulls away from the station. At that moment I'd do anything to go back, but I know that it's temporary. I know I'll be safe and loved in a matter of hours.

Summoning energy previously just a mystery, I jot down the escalator to the patient train and hop aboard. The scent of rain, cologne and newsprint tickles my nose. Sip the coffee, turn the page.