Coffee

They say that hearing and smell are the last senses to go when you are dying. I can assure you that this is also true when you feel like you are dying due to a massive hangover.
You wake. Where or when am I? From traffic sounds and the smell of frying eggs, I determine that I’m still among the living. But do I wish to remain that way? Slip back into a cozy stupor.
Awake again. The cat, the Gray Menace Clancy, is delicately batting my nose, claws half extended. The claws are his warning that soon if you don’t get up and feed him, he’ll begin feline acupuncture. Let’s slip away into sleep.
AAAAWWWW! Stop! the cat’s efforts to wake me have now escalated. It’s now a single claw inserted into the nose with “delicate” traction applied.
“I’m awake, damn it!” You hear a thud as his twenty pounds of muscle hits the floor; you listen to him padding into the kitchen. ” Is he awake yet, Clancy?” It’s the familiar voice of your girlfriend. “Hey. Are you ready for coffee? Maybe some eggs and toast?”
I take a whiff of the coffee. Maybe I’ll recover after all?

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