The Mid Life Dating Files 2025

What are your morning rituals? What does the first hour of your day look like?

My Morning Routine: Or How I Became a Full-Time Employee of a Cat Named Blaze

Let me go ahead and clear something up: I do not wake up naturally. I do not rise peacefully with the sun. I do not stretch, sip lemon water, and journal my intentions for the day.

No.

I am aggressively summoned into consciousness by a small, furry dictator named Blaze.

Some people have alarm clocks. Some people have kids.

I have Blaze… who apparently believes he is both.

Around an ungodly hour (that I did not approve), Blaze begins his morning ritual: the Pat. The Paw. The Meow. And when those don’t work? He escalates to what I can only describe as a full-contact wake-up assault. This includes face taps, whisker tickles, and a very specific “you WILL get up or else” stare.

And just like that… I fold.

Because let’s be honest—I am not his owner. I am his staff.

The mission? Breakfast. Not just any breakfast. Oh no. We’re talking about a very specific, chef-prepared entrée featuring his favorite delicacy: wet food with extra gravy. The gravy is not optional. The gravy is the entire point.

I prepare it like I’m auditioning for a cooking show:

“Today’s special is a rich, gravy-forward blend with notes of ‘if you don’t hurry up, I will scream.’”

Once served, His Royal Highness begins dining. And by dining, I mean aggressively inhaling it like he has not eaten in 47 years.

But wait—it doesn’t end there.

After breakfast, he looks up at me.

And I know that look.

That is the “where are my Blazey Snacks?” look.

So yes, of course, I provide the Blazey Snacks. Because I value my life and my sleep… or at least what’s left of it.

Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to wake myself up, making coffee, and having a full-blown conversation with my cat.

And before you judge me—he talks back.

I’m serious.

We have discussions. Opinions are shared. There is eye contact. There are responses. This is a two-way relationship, and I will not be convinced otherwise. Blaze is a very smart little boy, and frankly, I think he runs this house more efficiently than I do.

Once breakfast negotiations conclude, we transition to the next phase of our morning: the Den Sit.

We settle into our two-person chair like a retired couple who’s been married 40 years. I turn on the TV, check emails, maybe play a little solitaire (okay… a lot of solitaire), and start working on social media content, videos, and blogs.

Blaze supervises.

By supervises, I mean he either sits on me, stares at me, or randomly decides the keyboard is the perfect place to exist.

From there, the morning just kind of… unfolds.

I’ll do some work. I’ll play more solitaire. I’ll clean something—because I cannot sit still if I know there is a crumb somewhere in my house living its best life.

At some point, I look around and realize I’ve already had a full day… and it’s barely mid-morning.

So if you’re out there with your calm, peaceful, structured morning routine—good for you.

But over here?

I’m just trying to survive my shift working for Blaze.

And honestly… I wouldn’t have it any other way.🐈‍⬛