I had the coffee brewing at 7 a.m. this morning and had my table set for my muffin and Rice Krispies (with fresh blueberries). I had my Irish butter ready for the muffin, my prescriptions ready to swallow with some apple juice in a glass.

The tomcat Trouble trouble trotted into the kitchen and warbled some cat noises. I reached down to pet his head and scruff his ears. That's when he leaped up onto the table. He had had a good breakfast at 5:30 a.m so he wasn't hungry. He flopped on his right side and spread out for a snooze. His rear left foot was draped across my muffin plate and up against my muffin.

I moved his foot. He brought it back. I moved his foot. He brought it back.

It was supposed to be a banana nut muffin but I caught a cat foot muffin for my breakfast. That large neutered tom knows that I love him dearly and after nine years as a house cat he is living a good life. I'll always wonder what his size and "maleness" would do as a street tom but I already know - he'd be a cat sire after brawling for females while getting torn up. And he'd be dead before he got to be nine years old.

Wanted attention!