Who needs a clock--or, to be more specific--an alarm clock? Certainly not I. I cohabit with a 9 pound furry alarm clock named Calliope.

Callie is well-named, because come 5 a.m., she is on the bed, whiskers in my nose, purring and pawing whatever parts of me she can reach, until I finally open an eye.

The open eye is the signal to start meowing loudly, signalling the universe that starvation is imminent, and why is someone not doing something about it? Her epic song would melt a heart of stone.

So much for sleeping late, even if I were inclined to do so. Her sister comes in to join the ruckus and I have the two of them warbling a hunger duet.

I guess I didn't get out of bed and to the food bin fast enough, because Callie disappeared for a few minutes and reappeared with a bird in her mouth, grumbling that if I wasn't going to feed her, then she guessed she was going to have to feed herself, dammit.

Heaven help me, and I haven't even had my first cup of coffee yet.