5 am.

Every morning at 5 am without fail, Linus hops onto my bed and begins his morning ritual. He walks across my body, pushes himself against my face and begins his futile attempts at licking my hair and face. He’ll settle for my hands, but he makes a valiant effort to get at my head. My alarm is set for six, and I want to lie awake for an hour, eyes closed, not interrupted by a sandpapery feline tongue.

I push him off the bed.

He hops back up.

I push him off.

He hops back up again.

This continues until the alarm begins to chirp sixty minutes later. Sometimes he’ll settle into the crook of my waist and fall asleep, and I will pet him and feel him purring against my torso. He won’t be still for long, though, before the incessant badgering and licking continues.

One day, five in the morning will come and he won’t be on the bed. He’ll have given up on trying to get my attention, my affection. I’ll have pushed him off one too many times.

Tomorrow morning, and every morning after that, I’ll give my cat sixty minutes of my time in return for unconditional love.

Not a bad deal. Not a bad deal at all.