Attack Garland

We all have a morning routine; something we do each and every day to get ourselves started.  My routine is:

1. Jump off of Sister's bed.
2. Stretch.
3. Yawn.
4. Scurry into the hallway, throw myself headfirst onto the floor, drag my face along the rug, and howl at the top of my lungs.
5. Get up, shake, and rush downstairs to collect my breakfast.

It's simple, it's elegant, and (perhaps best of all) it's loud.  Who could ask for anything more?

Well, today's routine didn't go quite as expected.

It started off fine.  I jumped off of Sister's bed when she woke me up (it's usually the sound of Pa roaming around the house that wakes me up, but since he and Ma are out east this weekend, the responsibility fell on Sister), did my stretches, and yawned a mighty yawn.  Because Sister was up (usually she's dead asleep when I get up) I sauntered over to her to collect a chin chuckle before continuing on my way.  I picked up speed as I rushed into the hallway and began to face plant into the rug when, all of a sudden, I felt a rustling by my tail.

Concerned that perhaps my bff Mecki had returned and was mounting a sneak attack (he does that you know, he waits until I'm distracted then rolls over top of me), I hightailed it across the room and turned to face my attacker.  But it wasn't Mecki.  There, in a crumpled heap on the floor, was a pile of shimmery silver rope.  My tail had knocked down the festive garland Sister had hung (insecurely, I might add) around her bedroom door.

Boy, did I feel foolish.  Here I was running away from a Christmas decoration; a decoration that I would have pulled down on my own and shredded had I noticed it earlier!  Hoping to save face and teach the nasty garland a lesson, I scurried back toward the shiny rope and was just about to grab it in my teeth when Sister, in an amazing burst of speed and agility given the early hour and the fact that her eyes weren't entirely open, pulled it away.

Now, in a perfect world, I would have been able to brush off the entire experience and continue with my routine as thought nothing had happened.  But this is not a perfect world.  The moment for rubbing my face and howling was over; it had passed.  It was best just to skip to breakfast (not that that's a bad thing).

But mark my word, I'll howl twice as long and as loud tomorrow!