![]() “Have you given the dog its pill?” she says. “No time,” I say, changing my laptop screen so she can’t see that I’m doing the Wordle. ![]() I worry about my appointment, largely from the perspective of transport logistics ![]() “Why aren’t you working in your office?” she says. “Still,” I say to the dog, “it helps to send a clear signal, so there’s no doubt as to … ” I look up, to see the dog eating the cat’s food. I never have any trouble interpreting the cat’s demands, but that’s probably because he only has two: Feed Me and Leave Me Alone. The cat comes in through the flap and miaows. “I’m only ignoring you because I have no idea what you want,” I say. The dog continues its oscillation with renewed urgency. “Get used to it.” The dog alternates between a prostrate position and sitting up, several times in rapid succession, while emitting a low whine. “At most.”ĭownstairs, the dog also seems perplexed by me being up this early. “Which is boring,” I say, “because it happens twice a week.” On mornings when I’m obliged to rise first, she acts as if she’s woken up in a parallel universe, instead of accepting the cold reality of circumstance. My wife navigates her world with reference to fixed points: she’s the one who gets up early, eager to seize the day by the throat I’m the one left behind to lie in, the laggard with a pillow clamped over his head. “Because you always ask the same question,” I say.
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