Alchemy is another word for making coffee, transmuting grounds into a precious element. The steam rises beside a bowl of oatmeal festooned with wild blueberries. The cat saunters over. He knows his part in this ritual. Ensconced on my lap, he knows I cannot move. He patiently waits for me to finish my breakfast knowing he will be served next.
The coffee swirls through my veins. The cat licks the last of the yogurt off the spoon. Seven. He plops himself onto the floor and stands next to his bowl. What divine purpose is there for a cat that can tell time? Maybe they should be also taught the days of the week and the divine importance of sleeping in on Sunday.
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