The next morning, at around eight, Skipper woke with a yawn and kicked the covers to the opposite side of the couch. As he sat up, he worked the crick out of his neck and cracked his back. According to the silent apartment, no one had woken up yet, so he decided he’d make himself useful.
An hour later, Judy dragged herself into the kitchen with a yawn, her candy cane-printed pajamas wrinkled and her dark brown hair tousled about her head.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she asked rubbing her eyes.
Skipper poured scrambled eggs onto a plate and started turning the sausages. “Well, I figured...
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