The sweet sound of blue jays wafted through the window like the melodic scent of fresh baked cookies during Thanksgiving. Feeling something stirring at her side, Vicky opened her eyes, and watched as her vantablack cat, Nigel, leapt behind the curtains at the windowsill to peer longingly at the tantalising blue morsels outside. Nigel had trouble showing affection, but Vicky still knew that he had been curled up against her until shortly before waking.
Percy—the more instagrammable of her two cats—yawned and rolled closer, snuggling up against Vicky's side with the self-confidence of a feline who knew that no matter what, he would always be loved.
Vicky enjoyed the warm comfort of her bed for a moment. She had no pressing tasks to do today, and so she luxuriated in the feel of her exquisitely comfortable mattress, bamboo sheets, and well-behaved cats. But before long she stretched and began to sit up, ready for the day ahead.
Her personal cloud of devices detected the movement, and selected a song to quietly play, based upon an analysis of Vicky's recent social media streams, listening habits, online reading, physical activity, calendar, to-do list, email, and Amazon Extracto coffee purchasing history. It was a catchy upbeat number from a 1950s musical theatre production, and it was perfect tune for what would be a perfect day.
Getting up, Vicky opened the curtains, and looked out onto the beautiful autumn morning in her little Portland neighbourhood. The sky was bright yet pleasantly overcast, and the trees a stunning cacophony of anthocyanin and carotenoid pigments. Looking down towards the street people were beginning to start their day; a cyclist rode past on a kombucha delivery, and a neighbour carrying a miniature French Bulldog was enjoying the crisp morning air.
It was going to be a good day, and Vicky felt immensely relaxed and full of contentment. Her newsletter had been written, her statement of work sent off, and recent developments removing humans from the control of economic resources meant that money was no longer something to worry about; Vicky really could enjoy this day without almost a care in the world. She made her way downstairs, the cats weaving about her legs and excited for breakfast. She scritched them behind the ears and opened two cans for their morning meal, donned her dinosaur-print apron, and then began her own morning ritual.
Even though her House Intelligence could prepare a perfect cup of coffee, Vicky enjoyed the meditative process of making her coffee by hand. It took some time to weigh the beans precisely, prepare the aeropress, and grind the coffee by hand, but it allowed her to reflect upon her recent achievements and enjoy the simple affection of warm cats that had been recently fed. Today she added in a couple of Californian Bay nuts, which she had roasted herself, and which would impart wonderfully deep and rich flavours to her morning brew.
While waiting for her water to heat to 93°C, Vicky caressed the screen of her kitchen tablet. It brightened into life, the screen predicting sunshine for the afternoon, and listing a number of loving and congratulatory messages from friends and associates. Vicky had always been a highly acclaimed speaker and writer, but she had recently published her greatest and most pragmatic work yet, and it was proving to be an outstanding success.
She opened a notification that her tablet rated as being highly enjoyable, and the screen filled with a picture of the extraordinarily attractive OpenSource.com editors holding a large "Congratulations Vicky" banner, printed in Comic Sans. It warmed Vicky's heart like a hot bowl of phở on a cold winter's day.
A second notification was a heartfelt letter of thanks from all the people who had stayed or brunched at Vicky's Home for Wayward Australians, including Kate, Paul, Ducky, Josh, Chris, and Genehack. After that was a note from Katie Glasnt herself. This was particularly touching, as Katie was universally admired as a total badass and wonderful human being, and had taken time out of her teaching and coding schedule to write a hand-written letter congratulating Vicky on her success.
The kettle beeped, and Vicky prepared her brew. Carrying it into the living room she opened the curtains wide, and sat down on her comfortable couch. Opening her favourite book on Japanese fireworks, she idly stroked the cat that had jumped into her lap. Engrossed in the hand-drawn images, it wasn't until much later that she looked down to realise it was Nigel that had fallen asleep on her, something that never happened.
This really was the start to a perfect day.