A morning at the Singhs

Dawn has not yet cracked, and Louie's alarm goes off a good half hour
before mine. The alarm is little and white and has busy paws, and one
of them whacks my eye. The resulting noise--"Ow! China! F***!"--
elicits the groan from my husband that indicates the alarm is
operational.

I lie there yet, the whacked eye barely open, watching the stealthy
little white thing. She sits beside the pillow, the paw creeping
slowly upward, tentatively, as if gauging my reaction as I breathe
against China's whiskers. After eternal seconds of this creeping paw,
it shoots forth, straight up my nostril, and this second alarm--"Grf!
Mph! China! $#*+!"--causes my poor husband to cower beneath his own
pillows, where in his wisdom he knows his nose is safe from the
Morning Probe.

Despite these precautions, I still can't get his tuchas out of bed in
time to get me to the train stop.

Blessed be,
Baha