Author's note: though I'm typically opposed to posting author's note such as these in my actual works, I do feel that it is necessary, as background needs to be given and I am doubtful that anyone will refer to my profile. Therefore, I'm requesting from my wonderful readers that the bottom of my profile, where reads 5 July 2011, be read.
Thomas Anthony Columbus groaned in sleepiness and considered rolling over onto his side before something made contact with his face. There were two somethings, actually, and they pushed against the boy's cheeks. Thomas opened his eyes, groggy and lazy, only to have them met with two large blue orbs of…
"Oliver," groaned the boy, closing his eyes and reaching up to push away the black feline in question.
"Oliver," mimicked the cat before swiping at Thomas's face and hopping off the twin bed. "It's time to wake up, kid."
The sixteen-year-old in question merely pulled the pillow from under his head and covered his face with it. "Why you 'o obnoxious?" he muffled out.
A strange noise came from the cat. It might have been a snicker. "Why are you so lazy? I told you not to stay up late."
Thomas the boy gripped the simple blue-cased pillow and tossed it at Oliver the cat, who merely leapt to one side and elicited a single deep meow. The boy closed his eyes with a sigh.
"I always stay up late on Sun-" said he, but Oliver interrupted him matter-of-factly.
"Yes. You stay up late every single Sunday-"
"-against my advice and my wished," he continued, not phased. "You concern me sometimes."
Thomas sighed, but it was not in frustration. One thing about Oliver was that he wasn't some cranky cat with nothing better to do than make the boy's life miserable; it was really quite the opposite. Most of what Oliver did around his companion (the two didn't fancy calling one another "master" and familiar") was for him, which included the times spent together when Thomas instead upon staying up late to study, whether magik or for school. He was a pushy and bossy feline, but Thomas considered himself to be one lucky lad.
The boy reopened his own blue eyes and lazily rubbed the sleepiness out of them. At least, he told himself that's what it was, but he knew that this particular trick did not work. His mother's morning tea always did the trick to wake him up.
"That's a start," Oliver cooed, making a run for the door. "Bus will be here in fifteen minutes!"
The boy threw aside his bed covers and nearly leapt out of bed, his sleepiness behind him. "What?" he demanded of the feline, but Oliver had already dashed away. "Damn cat!"