Your Loyal Servant

(1) Um, Who Are You?

Meow.

I groaned. No, I won't do it.

Meow.

Go away.

Meow.

I already said I wouldn't, so go away!

Meow.

God. Fine. You're so pushy.

I cracked an eye open to glare at the feline sitting presumptuously on my chest. He meowed again, and my other eye opened to give him the full-on force of my glare. But he just flicked his tail back and forth, watching me without blinking.

"There is no way to please you," I growled, stretching. As I sat up, he jumped off my bed and sat on the floor, glancing back at me to make sure I actually got out of bed.

My alarm went off, and I smacked the snooze. I placed my feet on the carpet and bent backwards, popping my back, which made the cat mew in concern. I gave him a sleepy smile, turned off my alarm, and pet his head. He scampered from my room, me in tow.

Before we owned Tommy, I had a hard time waking up. I'd sleep through my alarm, and by the time my parents shook me awake, I'd be half an hour late for school. When I reached high school, my parents decided it was time to get some extra help.

Tommy was my grandpa's. Every time I went to my grandparents' country home, Tommy was the first to greet me. I had known him since he was a kitty, and we got along great. So when Grandpa passed away and Nana was looking for a home for Tommy, it seemed natural that we'd take him.

He'd adjusted effortlessly to city-life. Cars didn't scare him, people didn't faze him, and he could sleep through anything. But that pompous prince of a cat had a routine, and if anyone disrupted that, he was no longer the sweet kitty everyone loved. He turned into a demon feline that even lions would back away from. So we tried very hard to keep his daily routine on track.

It just so happened Tommy's wake-up time coincided with mine, even if it was a few minutes early. So he took on the task of waking me up as well so I could let him out of the house and feed him (he caught on pretty quick that a sure way to wake me up was to annoy me awake, which explained his incessant meowing).

The cat looked at me with jade green eyes and mewed impatiently at the door to the backyard.

"I know, I know, you stupid cat," I grumbled, letting him outside. I kept the door open as I wandered into the kitchen, took out the cat food, and filled his dish. By the time I finished, he had returned and was purring against my leg.

Crossing my arms, I glanced down at him and told him, "That will not convince me to add more food to your bowl." He looked at me with imploring eyes, making me chuckle. "And neither will adorableness, so you'll just have to deal."

He stopped rubbing my leg with an indignant glare and ate his food in silence.

As I sat at the dining room table with my bowl of cereal, Tommy leapt onto the oak as well and settled himself in front of me. We held a staring contest, which I lost miserably, and when I finished, he cleaned the bottom of my bowl.

With a scrunched nose, I commented, "That is really gross, Tommy. Your tongue is not a substitute for soap and water." I took the bowl away, and he mewed in irritated discontent.