After Living: Part Two

It was a Saturday morning (ordinary or not, it was still a Saturday morning) in the Nathan household. I had slowly drifted out of that sleepy half-awake state that always happens on weekends. I was listening to the sounds of the Nathan household at 9:15. Here’s a list of what I heard:
1) “Oooommmm…” This was my sister in her hammock. Yes, she sleeps in a hammock. And meditates in it too.
2) “Oooommmm…” This was my mother in the kitchen, meditating while the vegetarian sausage burned. As usual.
3) “You’re burning the sausage again, Shauna!” This was my father, glancing up from his recycled-paper sketchpad. He has a Special Morning Routine that he absolutely must do every single day: He wakes up, rain or shine, at 5:00. We all yell at him to go back to bed. He goes for a walk to “inspire his soul”. He comes back around 6:30, makes himself a breakfast smoothie with dietary supplements, and drinks it while he finishes up a painting in the garage from the night before’s Special Nightly Painting Routine. Then he comes back inside and sketches in his sketchpad. My dad’s life is built on Special Routines.
4) Tickety-tackety-tick-tick-tackety. Tack. Tick-tick. This was my brother Zane on his computer, no doubt working on his website. It’s called The Master Of Who. Zane is obsessed with that. His email address is themasterofwho@themasterofwho.com. He even named our cat after it: Tamastrafoo. Kinda sounds like The Master Of Who if you say it really fast. But most of us just call him Foo.
5) Which brings me to the next sound I hear: Foo scratching at the footboard of my bed. Of course. He wants me—and only me—to get up and feed him. But what’s the priority, feeding Foo or my sleep?
6) The phone ringing. I know exactly who it is. It’s my friend Clara. And that finally convinces me to get up.
I roll out of bed (literally) and wander over to the bathroom to get the phone. (I don’t know what it’s doing in there either, so quit asking.) I pick up the phone lazily and press the talk button.
“Hi, Clara.”
“—and then I’m like, ‘Oh of course Ronny knows, why wouldn’t she know, Lana told her’, because you do know Mariah’s like obsessed with…” Obviously, Clara had started talking before the phone stopped ringing. It’s a bad habit of hers. She usually freaks out when she wants to make a point.
“Jeez, slow down Clara! Do you ever stop talking? Oh wait, apparently not…”
Silence. I can still hear her breathing. Then she bursts out again.
“HA! There! Oh snap! I stopped talking—“
“For five seconds.”
“But still! HA! And for your information, my name is Nekokiko.” Clara is obsessed with Japanese manga. She insists on being called Nekokiko, and most of the time I humor her.
“Fine, NEKOKIKO. What’s up?” It was going to be a long conversation.