They are still asleep, but the Idiot awoke some time ago and embarked upon her demented agenda. Now she has finally tired of headbutting cupboards in the kitchen and whining at the light fixtures. She returns to the bedroom, jumps on the bed and immediately comes close to falling of in astonishment with the shock of remembering that we exist. She has probably been gone for less than a quarter of an hour. Recovering with the sort of rapidity that only a true imbecile can muster, she decides that it must already be night again and settles down to sleep between them.
None of this is unusual, instead it is an exercise in nauseating monotony that I witness every morning while sitting on the corner of the bed. But now breakfast has waited too long.
I make my way over to the woman. I have known her the longest and she is the primary provider of food. A good smack in the face should get the lazy ape going. Poised gracefully on her belly, I raise my paw ready to execute a firm jab in the expectation of a respectful apology and a swiftly prepared meal.
Instead, chaos. Grunting in her sleep, she turns over, hurling me across the bed in the process. The bed itself becomes a raging sea, great waves of blanket rolling and crashing as the woman shifts to a comfortable position. Struggling to stay afloat on the metaphor I spy the Idiot at the centre of the maelstrom, a pitiful look of terror on her face, tossed one way and then the other as she battles against inundation. Her tail is the last thing to disappear, waving a mournful goodbye. It is turning out to be a bad day on the high seas, and I choose to vacate the bed.
Not all is lost though, the man is now awake and heading to the bathroom. In accordance with tradition I wait for him to close the door behind him, before pushing it open a crack and ramming my head through the gap to stare at him. He looks at me in disgust from the porcelain throne. I indicate that I am ready for breakfast, withdrawing my head just in time to dodge the thrown toilet roll.
The Idiot, once again recovered from a traumatic experience, is waiting her turn at the door. Lacking my subtlety she flings herself into it so that it flies wide open. While the humans take their showers the Idiot paces the bathroom and mewls pathetically. Important work no doubt, but not for me. Let her run the risk of getting wet I say.
Once we have coaxed the recalcitrant humans into the kitchen our work is still not over. We must constantly petition them for food, lest they forget and start doing something stupid. Our desperation grows as, stubbornly negligent in their duties, they attend to all sorts of inconsequential tasks, like feeding themselves, all the while babbling to each other in their ridiculous hairless monkey tongue. Can they not see that we are starving? Or at least that I am, who cares about the Idiot anyway? She can probably subsist on her own flatulence.
At last the bowls hit the ground, and I am so weak with hunger that I almost don't stop to inspect the Idiot's food first. It is always important to check that she hasn't been given something that would be wasted on her unrefined palate. A whole goose perhaps, or a capybara.
As I daintily bury my face in my delicious breakfast, smearing it all over my mouth in a dignified manner, I keep a watchful eye on the vacuum cleaner looming in its corner. It waits to pounce on the unwary, but I have the measure of it.
Slurping on the last chunks of "fisherman's choice", I hear a strange clunking noise. OH MY GOD THE VACUUM CLEANER! TAKE THE IDIOT PLEASE, NOT ME!
But no, it is the humans; they have used breakfast to distract us, escaping from the house under cover of mechanically reclaimed fish paste. Cleverer than I thought. Well they won't pull this trick on me twice, tomorrow I'll be ready. I'm sure I couldn't possibly be this hungry again tomorrow...
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