Morning arrived on time. This is important, because someone did not.
The sun was already up, streaming confidently through the windows like it owned the place. Birds were chirping. The house smelled faintly of promise and outdoor smells and destiny. My siblings were awake. I was awake. Even the dust motes were awake.
And yet…
Ben was still in bed.
I sat by the patio door, tail wrapped neatly around my paws, staring at it with the intensity of a professional who had been personally wronged.
The catio lay just beyond the glass.
Visible.
Accessible.
Cruelly locked behind human incompetence.
I glanced over my shoulder toward the hallway that led upstairs. Nothing. No footsteps. No yawning. No sound of the human butler preparing to do his one job.
Unacceptable.
I checked the sun again, just to be sure. Still up. High enough to count as “morning”. Possibly edging toward “late morning.” Frankly, I hadn’t checked the clock, but my internal schedule, flawless, by the way, said we were already behind.
My sister padded over, nose pressed to the glass. She chirped softly, tail twitching with excitement. The outside beckoned. Fresh air. New smells. Bugs to stare at aggressively.
My brother joined us, blinking slowly, then sitting down like this was a perfectly reasonable place to nap.
I sighed.
Clearly, if progress was going to happen, it would be because of me.
I rose and paced beside the patio door. Back and forth. Back and forth. A measured, dignified walk meant to project urgency. Surely Ben would sense this imbalance in the universe and awaken naturally.
Nothing. Fine. I would escalate.
I trotted upstairs and positioned myself beside the bed. Ben was still asleep, sprawled like a man with no concept of responsibility. I studied his face. Peaceful. Relaxed. Unaware of the disappointment he was causing.
I leaned in and released a gentle meow. Nothing.
Another meow. Slightly louder. Polite, but firm. The kind that says, Excuse me, sir, the day has begun.
Ben rolled over. I narrowed my eyes. I tried again, this time adding a little vibration. A purposeful, meaningful sound. Still nothing. I sat back and waited, giving him time to reflect on his choices. He snored. I stared at him in silence, the way only a cat can - not angry, just deeply, profoundly judgmental.
Downstairs, I could hear my sister scratching at the patio door. Tiny taps. Hopeful taps. Optimistic taps. My brother sneezed and flopped over. That did it. I marched back downstairs, pacing harder now. Faster. Tail flicking.
How long was he planning to sleep? Didn’t he understand that the kittens were awake? That I was awake? That the sun had risen and therefore the outdoor experience must commence? Did he think the catio operated on vibes alone? I stopped by the door again and stared at it like it had personally betrayed me. Clearly, subtlety had failed. It was time to involve the team. I turned to my siblings and cleared my throat (metaphorically).
They looked up. “This is a group problem now,” I said with my eyes. “And we will solve it together.”
My sister was immediately on board. She bolted toward the stairs with enthusiasm bordering on chaos. My brother followed at a more thoughtful pace, pausing halfway up to consider whether this effort truly required full participation.
Upstairs, we assembled.
Ben was still asleep.
My sister launched first, leaping onto the bed and sprinting across his legs like a tiny thunderbolt. She circled back and did it again, clearly delighted by the springiness of the human mattress.
I joined her, stepping carefully onto Ben’s chest and walking back and forth with deliberate weight. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. A method proven over generations.
My brother climbed up last and sat directly on Ben’s stomach, because efficiency is his love language.
Then we sang.
A choir of meows erupted. Loud. Harmonized. Slightly off-key. A masterpiece of urgency and accusation.
Ben groaned. Progress.
My sister turned him into a racetrack, zooming from pillow to footboard. I sat directly in his line of sight and stared into his soul the moment his eyes fluttered open.
“Morning,” my expression said. “You’re late.”
Ben squinted. “What time is it…?”
I leaned closer.
He blinked again, then sighed. “Oh. You want the catio.”
Correct.
He sat up, rubbing his face, surrounded by kittens like a man being audited. My sister bounced. My brother purred like he’d personally achieved this victory.
Ben stumbled out of bed, and we escorted him downstairs to ensure there were no further delays.
Finally, blessedly, the patio door opened.
Fresh air rushed in. The catio awaited.
My siblings burst forward, tumbling into the enclosure in a flurry of paws and joy. My sister immediately tried to climb something she absolutely was not supposed to climb. My brother sat down and stared into space.
I stepped out last, dignified as ever and took a deep breath.
Worth it.
I glanced back at Ben, who yawned and muttered something about “never sleeping in again.”
Good.
As I settled into my usual observation spot, tail neatly curled, I allowed myself a small, private smile.
The system had been corrected.
Order restored.
But the butler will have to be retrained so tomorrow I should wake him up earlier, much earlier.