Every morning, Pi rises with the sun. She greets her human with meows of jubilation. Another day! All rejoice! Sometimes her human responds in kind. Other times, morning has come around a tad quickly and her human tells her to “go away and leave me alone, Pi-kins. Don’t make me get that squirt bottle.”
After breakfast, Pi runs laps around the room. She jumps from bed to desk to table to counter. “Hooooieeeeee!” she cries. “You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread cat!” She has ten minutes to gather up all the hair elastics she can find and hide them under the bed before her human gets out of the shower and says, “You better not be on that desk, Pi-crust. I will squirt you till your ears turn soggy.”
Pi’s favourite mornings are the ones that find sun pouring in through the big back window. She lolls on the bed. On the days her human stays home, Pi can hardly contain her pleasure. There’s nothing like a good loll when someone else is hard at work.
After her morning snooze, Pi surveys her domain.
And she dreams. She dreams the big dreams that only a small cat can dream.
“One day,” she tells her human, “I will explore the great outdoors. I will chase butterflies. I will prance through the grass. I will find all the hair elastics in the world and I will hide them under your bed.”
“Dreamcrusher,” says Pi. “Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.”