The sunlight snuck in through the gap in the shades, calling me from my sleep. The memory of last night was barely a whisper amongst the thundering worries of today. If I had any chance of surviving the next sixteen hours, I was going to need a hot shower and some serious caffeine. Before any of that was acheivable, feeding Bogart would have to be done.

 I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, with a small wish that somehow a mug of hot coffee was already waiting for me. As disappointed as I was to find no cups of coffee, it seemed as though the large dog lying in front of the fridge had more than enough energy to wire a house. The dog jumped up at my entrance and I welcomed the pink wetness that might make a fish happy, yet tugged on my inner gag reflux. As much as I enjoyed Bogart's company, I didn't enjoy the constant licking. At least he didn't lick my face, which balanced out the disgusting thought of how wet the palm of my hand was.

"Good morning, Bogart. I wish you would stop licking me every morning." I rinsed my hand off in the sink and opened the cabinet, only to hear a loud whine. I turned to find Bogart nudging my thigh. "Look, you either eat dry dog food, or face starvation. I don't have any more bacon to give to you."

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