Six 'o clock AM. A pale, pinkish tinge was starting to appear on the rocky horizon - slowly but surely dawn arrived, and all the cats, dogs, mice, birds, humans and other inhabitants of the city were stirring and awakening as their nightly respites were so rudely interrupted by the cold morning.

Within the confines of 342, Bixby Avenue, a plump tri-colored cat with fluffy fur and a rather pushed-in nose greeted the dawn with a groggy scowl as she hopelessly tried to block out the light streaming in through the tall, lacey windows by shoving her head under her paws.

After several minutes she sighed and gave this up as a lost cause. Tail twitching irritably, she sank back on her haunches and began to groom her right paw vigorously.

She had been dreaming about something before the sun so annoyingly decided to rise…she knew that much. What she had been dreaming of, however…she closed her eyes in that deep, meditating look that gives the illusion that even the scruffiest of moggies is deep in thought, trying to remember what she had been dreaming about…

This rather disheveled looking cat, though she didn't look it at the moment, happened to be one of the most revered showcats in the nation. She was from one of the most prestigious lines of Siberian Forest cats in the world, the holder of the Precious Whiskers Cat Show "Grand Champion" title three years in a row, had starred in two cat food commercials and was scheduled to make an appearance on a cat documentary for Animal Planet next week.

All-in-all, life was good for the Siberian. She enjoyed posing for pictures for Cat Fancy articles, and the cat shows, while sometimes a bit trying, were always fun. However, as most famous people feel, there was always something missing. Just dangling out of reach…ah, it was cliché, but that was how she felt.

"Minnie, Breakfast!" the shrill voice of Miss Grosing cut through her thoughts like a knife, setting her fur on end – which put her in a considerably worse mood as her last half-hour of grooming had just gone to waste, "Come now, Minnie!"

'Minnie' was what the humans referred to her as. She, herself, thought it a nasty, common name. She wished that she could've been called something exotic, like 'Calliope' – She had read the name out of a history book Miss Grosing had left open on the desk once. The name belonged to one of the Greek Muses, the goddesses of fine art. She thought it would've been quite a fine name for herself, though the humans seemed unable to sit down and think of good, original names for their unfortunate pets. At least something better then 'Minnie'.

Sighing and deciding that she would linger on her indefinite dream after a good meal, Minnie leapt from the windowsill where she had been sitting and made her way carefully across the slick faux-marble floors and to the kitchen.