Cat Morning

Sleep no more, mortals.
At two in the morning, the cat roused herself out of a deep sleep to attempt to vomit on the bed, launching the Curmudgeonly Lion and myself into upright wakefulness with an alacrity usually reserved for air raids or nuclear Armageddon. Thus awakened, we fell into our proscribed roles: the Lion corraling her to the rooms with laminate floor and pointing me in the direction of the left-behind puddles, while I followed around blindly with a paper towel cleaning up the mess. 

I regret that the three AM regurgitation has become a habit for her. I suspect it is her way of asserting dominance.

Afterwards, we retreated back to bed and tried to go back to sleep. Emphasis on tried. The cat spent the next thirty minutes bathing (or, as I like to think of it: reloading), giving herself a full, Platinum package detailing that included undercarriage and upholstery. In the dead quiet of the room, the persistent sound of intermittent licking made it impossible for either of us to sleep. After forty minutes of the cat licking and the Lion tossing and turning I gave up on trying to sleep and got out of bed to write letters. Soon after, the Curmudgeonly Lion likewise roused himself and went to pay bills. So we used the time productively at least. 

Returning to bed after an hour or so, I once again attempted to sleep. I must have succeeded, because I dreamed that I was preparing to perform surgery (because why pay a professional when you can do it yourself?)  But I can’t say that it was a very restful night. 

~ by Gwydhar Gebien on September 25, 2017.

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