The ritual continues as I'm preceded into the bathroom by said white cat. Stretching and posing takes place in the hallway. When we're both in the bathroom, petting and scratching of the top and cheeks of kitty face ensues. Then, as I'm climbing in the shower, occassionally I get whapped by a little white paw. I haven't quite figured out if this is because I'm too close to her or if there was not enough petting. After the shower, there's more squalling until I let her into the tub to drink the water that drips from the faucet.
As I walk back into the bedroom, I note that stinky orange cat has put as much of his body as he dares on my pillow. See, he knows that he's not allowed to put more than his upper half on it (at least while I'm conscious). I pull up the sheets on my husbands side of the bed and the cat leaps off with a protest that sounds like he's just pinched every part of his body in a vise that suddenly grabbed then let go of him. I then move around to my side of the bed and pull up those sheets.
On the rare occasions when he doesn't get out of the way, the big bugger gets covered by sheets and pillows and whatever else is supposed to go in the space he's occupying. He's finally figured this out and started getting out of the way instead of being covered. Some days, though, he's just too danged stubborn. And it's not like he minds the sheets smothering him; he actively gets in the way when I'm changing the sheets by plunking down in the exact center of the bed.
This ritualization of the weekday mornings surprises me, mostly because I didn't notice it happening. The amount of cat noise first thing in the morning is just amazing.