It’s been a busy – but interesting – time at work. I’m hanging out for some time off over Christmas, and I’m planning on doing not very much!

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep…

The sound is insistent, rousing me from my sleep. I don’t want to be awake. Not yet. I am half in the vortex of a compelling dream. Tom Hardy was just about to… nope. It’s gone. I clutch at it, wanting to be pulled back in, but remembering the sequence is like trying to catch water with my bare hands. I fumble for the snooze button, find it, hit it. Silence.

I pull the doona up and tuck it under my chin, ignoring the light sneaking in past my drawn curtains. What I can’t ignore is the rumbling sound in my ear and the gentle pawing of feet on my shoulder. I lift up the doona and the cat crawls under, curling up in the curve of my belly. She purrs a sigh of contentment, paws stretched.

Footsteps on the bare boards, past my room, padding to the kitchen. Cupboard doors are clanked open and shut, a cup is dropped on the bench and righted, kettle filled. Rattling around in the cutlery drawer. The ssssssshhhhhhh of the coffee machine. More banging, more rattling.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep…

The cat shifts, head pops out from under the doona and she meows in unison with the beep of the alarm. ‘Ok, ok,’ I say. ‘I’m getting up.’ The cat leap frogs from my bed, and races out to the kitchen, anticipating her breakfast. I can picture her weaving herself between pajamaed legs, meowing.

I yell in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Can you make me a coffee, please? Strong.’

I hear a grunted reply. My daughter has never been a morning person. I pull myself out of bed, feet finding my slippers, arms finding my robe. I wander out to the kitchen and wish it were the weekend. I’m bone tired and I could use a sleep-in. What a pity it’s only Monday.