I awoke at about half past darkness with a dream in mind. Realized that I was writing in my dream.

I went over what I’d written. Considered rising to capture it. Decided not to. Resumed sleep.

Awoke in the morning. Went through dreams while doing light exercising and stretching. Daily ritual. The cats assumed the position. Stared fixedly with misery. Tucker seized a more active approach. Moved over and sat on my foot. Looked up at me. Eyes big. Waiting. Expectant. Give a little, “Mello,” in a friendly baritone.

Done with exercising, feeding cats was necessary before starvation took them. We went down the hall, they with eager anticipation, me with resignation. Cleaned out bowls — “You never even finished what I fed you last night” — opened a can. Doled out the wet food. Refilled the kibble stations. Cleaned and filled the water stations.

Coffee was brewed. Before it finished, I was back with the dream writing stuff. Headed to the computer. Wrote for an hour. Surprising how fresh and clear it had remained. Got up when my Fitbit reminded me that it was time to move. Remembered my coffee. Now cold. Drank some anyway. My taste buds immediately sent notices that this was unacceptable. I nuked the coffee hot. The taste buds were appalled.

Writing in my head was still happening. Hadn’t eaten yet but the muses were strong. So, despite the stomach’s increasingly vocal demands, I made fresh coffee and returned to the keyboard. Got back into the rhythm.

Half the coffee remains. It’s almost cold. Mug radiates an ant watt of warmth. Taste buds are not overly pleased with the dark fluid’s progress over their realm.

But it all works. Coffee and dreams. At least, today. Time to eat, according to my stomach. Get some real coffee, too, the taste buds request. Something hot and dark, please.