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I blink awake the next morning to sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting playful patterns across the sheets. Kat is still nestled comfortably against me, her warmth radiating and her face peaceful and slightly nuzzled into my shoulder. Walter remains firmly planted between us, snoring softly.
It’s the kind of scene you might find in a painting: serene, cozy, and filled with soft happiness. For a moment, I just lie there, taking it all in, committing every detail to memory. I’d happily play the role of the group’s perpetual early riser if it meant waking up to this every morning.
Eventually, I shift slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to Kat’s forehead. “Good morning,” I whisper, nudging her lightly with my nose. “Sleepyhead.”
“Morning…” she murmurs, eyes still closed with a lazy smile slowly spreading across her lips. When she finally does open her eyes, they light up with recognition and warmth, cutting through the sleep fog instantly. “Morning comes too early.”
Before we can move, Walter lets out a dramatic yawn, stretching his paws luxuriously, as if to remind us he’s there and still requires his morning quota of attention.
“Well,” I say with a smirk, “seems like we’re all up now.”
“Walter.” Kat giggles, giving him a little scratch behind the ears. “I hope you’re happy with your midnight invasion.”
The spoiled feline purrs in response, clearly satisfied with his life choices, and I chuckle as I slip out of bed, a playful idea forming in my mind.
“Alright,” I announce, “time to start the day. But first, we shower.”
Before she can protest, I scoop Kat up into my arms, reveling in her surprised but delighted squeal. Walter watches us, clearly amused by the human antics before flouncing off, likely to reign over his territory.
“What are you doing?” Kat laughs, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck as I carry her effortlessly into the bathroom. Her cozy little bathroom is adorned with the charming clutter of self-care products and whimsical decorations.
As I set her down, I take a second to appreciate the quirky shower curtain decorated in cartoon cats.
She turns on the shower, the steam beginning to curl up toward the ceiling, filling the space with a misty warmth, and steps into the small enclosure. I step in after her, letting the hot water cascade over us.
“You know,” she says, her voice playful amidst the splashes, “I’m beginning to think you invented some clever excuse just to get me into the shower.”
“Guilty as charged,” I reply, grinning, pulling her close so that her back is against my chest, holding her as though she’s the linchpin to my world. Which she honestly is.
