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Description
A little slice of life story I wanted to write of my grandfather and the morning routine I understood him to have (and experienced a bit before).

———

Morning Routine
Grandfather arose early in the morning, much earlier than usual. He slipped out of bed, silent, courteously trying not to wake both his wife and the dog. Gently, he tiptoed out of the bedroom and crept downstairs. The stairs groaned and creaked, much like his knees at this hour, sending one of the cats scurrying across the hall in a furious adrenaline rush.

This was fairly typical, as when he usually woke up the cats were generally getting the last bit of their midnight madness out of their system before their early morning nap after breakfast. He filled the kettle, the gentle gurgle of the faucet slowing into a peaceful trickle of water as he started the stove, pulling out his teacup.

A gentle headbutt. One of the cats, a very self-secure and self aware Turkish Angora who’s appearance lived up to her name, Pretty Girl, greeted him. He heard the singsong trill chirp of Tia, calling her own introduction coming to greet him as well, perching herself on the solid oak table centering the room, waiting for her breakfast service. Her aged amber fur blended warmly in with the table as she washed herself politely while she waited.

The kettle started a gentle purr of its own as the water slowly heated. Tia was greeted in warm reverence by Pretty Girl as she pranced back and forth between grandfathers feet and her peer.
“I know, I know, I’ll feed you babies.” he cooed. As if on cue, the pride was summoned, with the gargoyle of a beast named Dobby climbing to the counter’s edge, ever the sentinel for his morning meal. Flinging himself with acrobatic grace at the table came Lovebug, leaving his behemoth protege trudging behind slowly. Dexter ambled into the kitchen, bleary eyed and yawning, curious as to what disturbed his slumber.

As the kettle rose from an agitated grumble to a cacophonous choir of songbirds, Grandfather rescued the kettle off the stove, pouring some boiling water into his teacup in a four-decades old ritual while he prepared some cold chicken for the gathering crowd, like Noah preparing to feed the creatures of the Arc.
With the gentle tisk of a can of sealed food the kitchen was flooded with fur, and Dexter towering above them all; Ten cats gently vying for attention to get to the foodserver first. With practiced patience the pride was separated by rank as they silenced themselves with their breakfast, a mix of their dried grain food and meat, with Tia served her own private portion away from the squabble.

Dexter was given the kings portion of the chicken that was mixed with his food as well, serviced in his silver chalice. He begrudgingly ate, still half awake but peckish as he nibbled. Unaccustomed to his life of comfort, still, he buried his remaining food in a corner of his bowl for later, before licking his chops in some comfort.

Grandfather returned to his now preheated teacup, emptying the water and refilling with the still-scalding waters, sinking in a teabag like a bather in a spa, steeping the aromatic herb. He capped his teacup to keep the heat as went to offer a morning respite to the Akita, his curly tail bobbing with sleepy grace as Dexter floated outside to enjoy the sunrise from the comfort of his leaf-pit.

Settling down, he brought his tea with him into the armchair while Tia, his furry shadow, nestled herself gently in his lap.

Description
A little slice of life story I wanted to write of my grandfather and the morning routine I understood him to have (and experienced a bit before).

———

Morning Routine
Grandfather arose early in the morning, much earlier than usual. He slipped out of bed, silent, courteously trying not to wake both his wife and the dog. Gently, he tiptoed out of the bedroom and crept downstairs. The stairs groaned and creaked, much like his knees at this hour, sending one of the cats scurrying across the hall in a furious adrenaline rush.

This was fairly typical, as when he usually woke up the cats were generally getting the last bit of their midnight madness out of their system before their early morning nap after breakfast. He filled the kettle, the gentle gurgle of the faucet slowing into a peaceful trickle of water as he started the stove, pulling out his teacup.

A gentle headbutt. One of the cats, a very self-secure and self aware Turkish Angora who’s appearance lived up to her name, Pretty Girl, greeted him. He heard the singsong trill chirp of Tia, calling her own introduction coming to greet him as well, perching herself on the solid oak table centering the room, waiting for her breakfast service. Her aged amber fur blended warmly in with the table as she washed herself politely while she waited.

The kettle started a gentle purr of its own as the water slowly heated. Tia was greeted in warm reverence by Pretty Girl as she pranced back and forth between grandfathers feet and her peer.
“I know, I know, I’ll feed you babies.” he cooed. As if on cue, the pride was summoned, with the gargoyle of a beast named Dobby climbing to the counter’s edge, ever the sentinel for his morning meal. Flinging himself with acrobatic grace at the table came Lovebug, leaving his behemoth protege trudging behind slowly. Dexter ambled into the kitchen, bleary eyed and yawning, curious as to what disturbed his slumber.

As the kettle rose from an agitated grumble to a cacophonous choir of songbirds, Grandfather rescued the kettle off the stove, pouring some boiling water into his teacup in a four-decades old ritual while he prepared some cold chicken for the gathering crowd, like Noah preparing to feed the creatures of the Arc.
With the gentle tisk of a can of sealed food the kitchen was flooded with fur, and Dexter towering above them all; Ten cats gently vying for attention to get to the foodserver first. With practiced patience the pride was separated by rank as they silenced themselves with their breakfast, a mix of their dried grain food and meat, with Tia served her own private portion away from the squabble.

Dexter was given the kings portion of the chicken that was mixed with his food as well, serviced in his silver chalice. He begrudgingly ate, still half awake but peckish as he nibbled. Unaccustomed to his life of comfort, still, he buried his remaining food in a corner of his bowl for later, before licking his chops in some comfort.

Grandfather returned to his now preheated teacup, emptying the water and refilling with the still-scalding waters, sinking in a teabag like a bather in a spa, steeping the aromatic herb. He capped his teacup to keep the heat as went to offer a morning respite to the Akita, his curly tail bobbing with sleepy grace as Dexter floated outside to enjoy the sunrise from the comfort of his leaf-pit.

Settling down, he brought his tea with him into the armchair while Tia, his furry shadow, nestled herself gently in his lap.