Sunday morning

“Oh how bleary the day,” she thought. “At least I slept through a lot of it.”

She rolled out of her soft padded cave, rubbing her face in the softblanket one more time for good measure. Into the entryway, she extended and reached up for the canister of coffee beans to the right, and the filters, to the left.

“Whshdhshshsh” went the faucet, for six cups worth. “Fwwwwp fwwwwp fwwwwp” went the grinder. “Pwap pwap pwap” she persuaded the grounds into the filter.

Now, time for the oatmeal, made by an unmeasured swipe of oats and whoosh of water, plus three prods at the microwave for 1:30.

The coffee was finishing, and as she poured her cup, the oatmeal was nearly done too, ready for flavoring. “These green beans will do. Also, I am the best at pipelining.”

She ate the oatmeal and drank the coffee, and on top of it, a good measure of water. Mildly she sniffed at the prospect of the day and listened to the twittering of the birds. Nope, there was nothing to do but plomp back in, back with the softblanket and other downy friends. There she could pretend to be a soft quadruped in peace.

[comment: “it’s like the metamorphosis, but more apathetic and fewer legs. also she is only pretending to be soft and furry; she is not particularly furry.”]

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