Sir Knavely has become accustomed to my face.
He's also decided to act as my alarm clock.
Last night, I wrote until 4:30 AM. He slept as I did so. The lazy little SOC.
You'd think he'd understand that since I had worked late, I should get extra sleep, but no.
No, none of that for me.
9:30 AM, as usual, he awakens me by examining my face with his paws, his tongue, his nose.
He does share certain dog-like qualities.
When that didn't seem to work, he sat beside me in bed, talking to my face in his odd little accent.
Squinted at me. Tried to see the subtext of my snores. Worried.
Finally, he just talked at me:
"Time to get up, Steven.
"Got a schedule to keep here.
"Time for me to curl up and take a nap behind your computer screen.
"And I need you to be typing, not snoring here."
* * *
On the positive side, I'm at 183 pages (and page 28 on the 52-page extended treatment). You do the math.