Foo Morning to Us All

This is a typical morning... Mister Foo walks back and forth across the bed, visiting the window, singing to the birds, looking for exposed toes to attack.  All of this goes on well before I have to get up, face the day, and be marvelous. 

If it's a weekday, his antics are a grim reminder that I'm not eager to greet the brand new day, that sleep and leisure are my heart's desire, but by now I've peeked at the clock and it is definitely time to rise and shine, rally the troops, find a hair brush, rustle up some grub, saddle the horses, mix my metaphors... all that morning-school day-business!

And just when I resolve to do what has to be done, Mister Foo does this:  He curls up on my legs, starts his motor, gives me a drowsy, going nowhere expression...

and goes to sleep.  Purring, snugly, warm, soft, heavy sleep. And.  I am trapped!  99% of the pictures I post to social media are of my legs, trapped under the fur powers of Master Foo. He is an irresistible force, with uncanny timing, and hypnotic polka dots.  

But.  Today is Saturday!  And Master Foo's timing is impeccable.  His purring, like a lullaby. The garden is shrouded in a deep, restful fog.  Kamen, our darling transgendered hen is crowing, doves are cooing, here comes the sun!  But no one has to rise, or shine.  

I love Saturdays.   I love Mister Foo.  I love the fog, the trees silhouetted in the dawn's early light.  I love lingering, or rising, whichever feels right. I love that Geoff is home, that the children wander in, and conversations carry on, plans develop. 

Whatever you have planned, or unplanned, Mister Foo and I hope you have reasons to love this Saturday morning, too. Whether yawning, or roaring... Good morning!