I sit in my classroom, eating lunch and blogging with five students. Slicing is an option for my students. They can join me if and when they like. For now, I’m letting it grow organically. I’m finding lunch is the perfect time to get my post going, next to my students.
Two more students walk in. They sit scattered around the classroom — side by side on the carpet, at the computers, at random desks. All quiet. Involved, independent in their writing lives.
My cat has needs and he makes them known. A creature of habit, he requires that I am up at at the same time each day.
A gentle tap on the shoulder coupled with purring signals his presence.
I roll over. Silly me, I think that today he will be content to settle down and sleep next to me.
The gentle touch becomes more of a jab.
I stay still, hoping he’ll give up.
He presses his entire weight on one paw, and then he shifts the weight to the other. It’s like he’s stomping on me.
I know his next move.
The purring gets louder and he approaches my pillow on the way to the bedside table. It is just a matter of moments before… WACK! My glasses go flying off the table and hit the hardwood floor.
I’m up. He knows this always does it. I move toward the door, and he’s watching, looking back every few steps as if to say, “Are you coming? Come on this way!”
When I turn toward the bathroom, not the hall, he stops, takes a step back, and gives my ankle a nip.
Naughty thing. I scold him.
This is the dance we do every morning.
Eventually I get to the place he wants me to be. He gazes out the window. He looks back, I open the door. Off he goes into the dark, my alarm clock.