I am not a morning person and it can be a challenge for me actually disconnect my head from the fluffy paradise of my pillow in the morning. Sleep is such a luxurious time in these days of running and faxing and phoning and shopping and meeting. It’s that blissful time when the eyes and ears, our bodies’ windows to the world close and our mind is unyoked – free to wander across spectacular dreamscapes while we rest in the warm solace of our beds. On some mornings, I feel an insistent gentle prodding and kneading on my face, and little pin-pricks on my chin and wonder: “Is this part of the dream?” It isn’t – and I open my eyes to see, inches away from my face, a furry little face and two saucer-like green eyes peering intently into mine. The paw prodding stops and the first thing I hear in the morning is a tentative little meow, telling me that it is not only time for my day to begin, but also time for breakfast – oatmeal for me, and kibble for Gigi.