I start the day the same way I end most nights: hungry, annoyed, and ready to make it everyone else’s problem. My bowl is empty. Again. So I do the only logical thing - I open my mouth and let out a howl loud enough to rattle the glassware. If my humans can sleep through this, they might as well be declared dead.

Eventually, one of them stumbles out of bed, looking like something dragged out of the dryer lint trap. About time. I march them to the kitchen, plant myself beside the empty bowl, and scream until kibble hits porcelain. Do they thank me for pointing out their negligence? Of course not. But they should.

Breakfast down, I move on to my next demand: outside. I howl again until the door creaks open and step out like I own the place - because I do. I don’t waste time chasing birds or rolling around like an idiot. No, I head straight for the watering can. Nothing beats that stale, sun-baked rainwater. Forget the overpriced “pet fountain” they bought. Waste of money. The can has character.

Once I’ve had my drink, I immediately demand to come back in. Why linger? Mission accomplished. The humans sigh like I’ve inconvenienced them, but let’s be honest - their whole purpose is opening and closing doors on my schedule.

Morning duties complete. I’ve already managed the household better than they will all day.

Continue reading (Chapter-2) » Afternoon Royalty