Here he is, my CBAC:

What, you say? That’s American Domestic Short-Haired orange tabby, I hear you saying. Well, yes, but he’s also my CBAC (Carbon-Based Alarm Clock), with his timer set to about 4:30 AM.

If allowed in the bedroom, that’s the hour he begins his tango on my head or arms. If not in the bedroom, then the cries and meowing likewise begins and, with intermittent breaks, does not stop completely until we are up. Job done, he then jumps up on the breakfast table, spreads out on the newspaper I’m reading — or on the laptop, depending — and starts his morning nap.

I’m sure he’s thinking, “Hey, I did my job! They are up, I’m fed, and now it’s time to go back to bed”.

I’ve decided that kitties are little fur-covered bureaucrats: things must happen at more or less the same time in more or less the same order. What, you’re up but Mom isn’t?? We have to express our disapproval. You’ve come home and haven’t topped up my bowl? Stink eye to you. You settled down to do some knitting in my favorite chair? Basta to that, take me in your lap and pet me.

So he has me under control, pretty sure. But it’s not a bad life if I stay under his sway.