MARTHA POV
I was woken up by a slap to the face.
Not metaphorical.
A very real, very furry, very deliberate slap.
I groaned, not even opening my eyes as I blindly reached out and pushed the offender away.
“MrBigshot,” I muttered into my pillow, voice hoarse with sleep, “if you touch me again, I swear I will—”
A paw landed on my cheek again.
Slow.
Intentional.
Disrespectful.
I cracked one eye open.
He was staring at me with his usual half-disdainful look.
Fluffy, orange, majestic like he paid rent in this apartment, sitting on my chest like a tyrant waiting for tribute.
“It’s not even six,” I rasped. “You can’t be serious.”
He blinked.
Unmoved.
Unimpressed.
Another paw.
Tap.
Right on my lips this time.
Clenching my teeth, I turned toward my bedside table, and sure enough
