I can feel a cinnamon dusted cereal crumb in my slipper. My neck feels like silly putty, my throat filling up with impending yawns, the rims of my eyelids extra warm. I am growing hungry because my breakfast time is drawing close.
My cat wouldn't let me change the bed sheets tonight. Okay- it was partly my doing! She climbed up and laid down smack center on the bed as I was about to begin and as she is deserving owner of much of my heart I didn't want to disturb her. To the friend or two who read here and know this kitty, I will say- Sylvia.
This is the kitty who was rescued from behind a restaurant at 1 1/2, the kitty who barely let me touch her and swatted my face if I got too close when I first adopted her six years ago.
This is also the kitty who spent five days lying on the foot of my bed staring at the floor the first time I took a vacation and left her at home (with Harold who loves her and gave her excellent care).
The kitty who will lie awake beside me watching me and protecting me from what disturbances she can prevent- for days if need be - whenever I am sick. The kitty who comes and rubs my face then settles quietly beside me when I am sad.
The kitty who absolutely gets bed preference tonight if she is snuggling comfortably amongst the quilt rumples.