It's 5am here. I woke up because I heard something like a bottle toppling over and thought it might be from the kitchen, but both cats are accounted for and still asleep, so maybe it was from outside. Something (non-feline, probably a bug) just bit me on the shoulder.
It's 8am on the east coast. This is exactly the sort of can't-get-back-to-sleep morning where I'd call my mom. The instinct to do so is still really strong and it hits at odd hours like this. That "I haven't talked to her in ages, need to call" impulse. I wonder if it'll ever fade.