A Night I Couldn’t Sleep
So went the prompt from my Scribettes Writers Group. I usually go to sleep rather quickly, so this didn’t apply so much.
However, the very early mornings that I can’t sleep apply quite well, indeed. It is spring and the morning light is coming earlier. And nature calls, especially if I had a good satisfying cup of tea the evening before. It is inevitable.
As soon as my foot moves—POUNCE, chomp—and I am yelling “OUCH!”
I spring out of bed and untether myself from my breathing machine. And cute Fat Cat Toby, stretches his length and purrs while he awaits my return.
I climb into bed. Reconnect my breather. As soon as my feet are covered, he’s ON them. OUCH! Stop biting. OUCH! I kick at him, but the covers don’t present any detriment.
The Next Toss
I get up. Disconnect my C-Pap tube again. Toss Toby off the bed.
Climb back in. Reconnect. Settle down.
I move my feet. Toby chases them.
What time is it again? My bleary eyes seek out the window. Barely light. Right.
Groaning, I weigh my options. Disconnect the tube, throw the kitten off the bed, just so he can jump up again and resume his annoying game with my feet.
Or throw him out the door, close it, and be done. Reconnect the tube. Settle in again.
Only to hear crashing, hissing, growling and spitting on the other side of said door.
Disconnect the tube. Jump out of bed to find out what was damaged this time as Toby went after Bubba and Sissy who were minding their own business until the furry whirlwind hit them.
By now, I think I must give up. The night’s rest—what little there was—has ended. I turn off the breathing machine with a sigh.
I’m up! I’m up!
I start to make the bed and Toby comes zooming into the room and does a flying leap just as I shake out the bedspread cover over the bed. He purrs and waits for my fingers to jab so he can play with those now.
I’m not sure I will survive Toby’s kittenhood.
I am not sure Bubba and Sissy will, either.
God help us.
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