I haven’t used an alarm clock in over a year — I live with a cat named Milo.
I adopted Milo from a rescue centre in Adelaide last winter. I wasn’t even looking for a cat. I’d popped in with my niece, who wanted to pat kittens, and somehow walked out with a 5kg orange tabby who immediately took over my apartment, my schedule, and my heart.
Milo isn’t one of those sleek, mysterious cats who glide silently through life. He’s loud. He’s opinionated. He announces every room he enters like he’s the guest of honour at his own surprise party.
But what really makes Milo Milo… is mornings.
Every day — and I mean every single day — he wakes me up at 6:14am on the dot.
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Instead, he leaps onto my chest like a furry bowling ball, bonks his head against mine, and starts purring directly into my ear at full volume. If that doesn’t work, he taps my face. Then bites my hair. Once, he brought me a sock from the laundry basket like it was a sacred offering.
At first, I hated it. I just wanted one sleep-in. But over time, it became… our thing.
We have this little routine now. I wake up to his purr-engine, groan, roll over, and he stretches dramatically like he’s been waiting hours for me to wake up. Then we go to the kitchen together — him trotting ahead, tail high, looking back every few steps like “You coming?”
He sits next to me while I make coffee. I give him a few treats. We listen to the birds outside the window. It’s calm. It’s simple. It’s the best part of my day.
One morning last week, I realised I’d actually started waking up a few minutes before he jumps on me — like my brain had synced to his rhythm. And I didn’t mind. I actually smiled into the pillow, knowing he was about to crash-land on my chest any second.
Milo didn’t just help me start mornings earlier. He helped me start them better.
I used to scroll my phone in bed and dread the workday. Now I start my day with a small creature who thinks I’m the most important person in the universe. And somehow, that shifts everything.