The best part of waking up...

There's a commercial I've seen a couple times -- I can't remember if it's for cat food or coffee -- but it shows a woman going about her morning routine with her cat unobtrusively by her side. The cat jumps on the bed to nuzzle her awake, then follows her down the hallway, and sits next to her yoga mat while she stretches. It looks like an idyllic morning for both the woman and cat. When I'm watching I think about how lovely it would be to have such a sweet, calm, companion accompanying me while I begin my day.

My mornings with horrible cat could not be anymore opposite. They usually begin with him scratching at my door, or knocking things over in the spare room. As many times as I've tried to cat proof the house -- putting breakable things out of reach, or heavy things on the floor, he still finds something heavy enough to make a loud thud when he bats it off a table, nightstand, or bed. My roommate claims he just wants to play, which is why he makes such a loud effort to get my attention. Since my day has just begun, I try to approach him with optimism.

"Maybe he does want to play today," I tell myself with a smile. (I once read that if you smiled when you didn't feel like it, you'd still feel more cheerful because your muscles send "happy" thoughts to your brain. That's an overly simplistic, but I'd say it works 50/50.)

As I walk out into the hallway, he stays a couple steps ahead, mainly so that he can stop in front of me every couple steps. My walking becomes a dance, rather than an easy stroll. In an effort not to trip over the cat, I end up looking like I'm walking on hot coals as I have to continually change where I place my foot down to avoid stepping on him. Jumping is also more effective for avoiding tripping. If I'm moving in only an up and down motion, my feet don't run the risk of getting caught under the cat. There's also the factor of his claws. If I sway slowly, he sees that as an opportunity to take a swipe at my toes. Stepping lively keeps my feet from his slow, but pointy, talons.

As I roll out my yoga mat, he sits across the room. His eyes narrow as I begin my sun salutations. By the time I'm in downward dog, he's ready to play again. He sees the position my body is in, as a bridge to crawl under. He tickles my nose with his tail. Then he attacks. A strand of hair, or my shirt hanging down -- anything that dangles is fair game to him. Of course his lack of coordination means that he hardly hits what he's aiming for, and instead ends up swiping my stomach, or face. The rest of my routine, he paces along the mat, swiping whenever possible. By the time I'm done, so is he. Only once my mat is rolled up will he sit contently on the couch, watching me like a good companion.