#fridayflash: but it's a lifestyle

The thing that makes noises in the morning is... making noises. I don't like it. It sounds like a very big and angry squirrel barking.

The thing won't stop making noises until she wakes up and forces it to stop, so unfortunately I have to work with the thing instead of destroying it, at least for now. I sound the alert, right in her ear, and she tries to hit me (but she misses, because we do this most mornings and I'm ready for it), then she rolls over and makes the thing quiet.

Some days she falls back asleep after we go through this, then she wakes up later and runs around in a panic before heading out the door. I don't like that either, so I jostle the bed to make her finish waking up.

She says what she always says when she's angry at me. I get out of striking distance. Then she looks at the now-silenced thing and gets up on her own. She heads to the washroom. I didn't actually feel like waking up myself yet, so I find the warm spot on the bed and settle in for a late-morning nap. I hear the toilet flushing.

I do not like the thing, because it makes loud angry noises. She doesn't seem to like the thing either, for all that she allows it in the room. Today I will try to knock the thing to the floor again. It's harder to do than it sounds, because it's tethered to the wall.

The shower is running. She won't come back in here for at least another ten minutes. Bliss.

She made the angry sound from inside the shower! I'm not even in that room! The shower sound stops, so I lift my head to listen and watch for what will happen next.

She appears in the doorway with a towel wrapped around her, dripping water everywhere. I lift my head to get a better look, because she's got the angry face on, and notice one of my mouse dolls in her hand. It's completely drenched in water. She squeezes it and a puddle forms on the hardwood.

Oh. Oh right. Mouse dolls aren't supposed to go in the shower. This has happened before.

She takes a step into the room. I leap off the bed and run under it, making for the spot in the exact middle, under the headboard, that I know from past experience she can't reach.

I hear the angry sound again, and then ridicule noises. I do not like being ridiculed, but it means I will not get hauled out from under the bed.

She leaves, and then I hear the shower again. I come out from under the bed carefully, in case the shower is a trick. Sometimes she runs water to hide the sound of food being released from the metal traps.

No, she really doesn't seem to be around. But there is water all over the floor! I take a running leap over it, and just get a little bit on one foot. Ick. I eat some food and drink some water in case I need to hide under the bed for the rest of the day. The mornings the thing makes noises she usually leaves for the whole day, but it's good to be safe.

The shower stops, and she sees me by my food and water. She makes good mood noises. I signal the food and water are getting low, just in case. Sometimes she leaves with more bags than usual and doesn't come back for two mornings.

She cleans out the water holder and refills it, then does the same with the food holder. I should be good for another two days. I check the food and water while she goes back to the bedroom.

She comes out wearing the clothes that mean she's going to leave. She picks me up and strokes my head. I let my chest rumble to show I mean no harm, and she's still making good-mood noises, so I must be communicating effectively. Then she lets me down, and I notice that there is a sunbeam on the couch in the living room, so I go sit in that.

She's about to leave when she goes to the living room, picks up the little window in the black case from the table, and taps at it for a few moments. I look after she leaves, and the glyphs are:
SheHasACat: I wish I had my cat's lifestyle. [tweeted at 7:30am from Twitter]
I tap the window a few times, but all that happens is that the glyphs vanish, and a creature who looks like me appears. It's not moving, so I don't get concerned.

I figure it's time to go back to my sunbeam.