In our old place, Molly (the orange cat) loved joining me for breakfast. It was a charming start to each day, but it was usually counter-acted by Desmond (the evil, tuxedo cat) making noise, breaking something, or using the bathroom on the living room floor.
Each morning, she would sit at the table with me if there was a chair, or, at least, she would camp out under my chair and spend the morning rubbing against my shins. Meanwhile, Desmond sat on a shoe insole that had I left on the floor and and would get angry when I got close:
We’re still living amidst boxes, so no new traditions have developed in the current apartment. Maybe they will involve Desmond taking a vow of silence.