My Alarm Has Paws
Anyone who knows me, knows that you wake me up at your own peril. My mother’s third husband (really, don’t go there) was given the unenviable task of getting me out of bed one summer for work. After a few false starts, he figured out the exact distance to stand when he prodded me, so that my flailing arms wouldn’t smack him someplace very painful.
Basically, I don’t sleep well and I don’t wake up well either. Those magazine relationship articles (clearly written by people who’ve never had relationships) that suggest you wake your partner up for a bit of nookie? I’ve scarred people for less.
This morning, I was woken up by a Tightrope, followed by a Bathing Beauty. Luckily, no one died.
Confused? It’s her fault:
Lila, the friendly one of our two tabbies (Crystal will cut a bitch soon as look at you), has decided to make waking me up her life’s work. She’s fast and efficient, which is good for her and bad for me. Her repertoire includes:
The Flying Dutchman — single leap from floor onto the top of my body, then skipping forward a few steps. If she were a gymnast, I’d have to say she can’t stick her landing.
The Tightrope — start at the feet, walk along the entire length of my body, sniff my face to make sure I’m still breathing, turn around, repeat.
The Bathing Beauty — plop her weight down on either my legs or my body and proceed to noisily and thoroughly wash herself.
The Husband — only if I’m sleeping on my stomach. Sneak up to me, lift up her paw and prod me exactly in the middle of the back, as if with a finger. Usually gets a “WHAT?!?” because I assume I’m dealing with a human.
The Dead Weight — she takes over a spot close to my twisted sleeping body, curls herself up, and refuses to move. When I try to straighten out, there’s no place to go.
Honestly, I only keep her around because she’s the world’s cutest sleeper. I tried to get a pic but she was not cooperative. Seriously, she curls up in a ball and turns her head upside down and it is effing ADORABLE.