But when I awaken at 3 am because of a full-scale attack on my feet, unconditional love quickly becomes survival of the fittest. First, I play dead and lie still. The attack stops ---- briefly ----- and then resumes, either because they do not care that I am dead or because they are not fooled. Either way, my toes are at risk. 10 minutes later I realize that playing dead in your own bed is not conducive to actually sleeping in your own bed. So I quickly re-arrange my feet, in hopes the cats will be deterred. Ha. The attack continues. I lie there wondering where I last saw the spray bottle (cats hate being sprayed in the face with water and it's our fail safe method for staying safe). Then I remember that the water bottle is up in the playroom, keeping the gladiators safe. No relief is in sight. Now I've been awake for 20 minutes, so I take a trip to the bathroom. I return to find both cats curled up in the warm spot I recently occupied. I stand there, now next to my bed, instead of in it, and suggest that I am the boss of them.They stretch and yawn as if to say, "WHATEVER." So I gently climb back into bed, trying not disturb the sleeping cats. And as I fall back asleep, certain facts must be faced: they are actually the boss of me.
1 comment:
you have come to this realization much sooner than many of us and for that you are to be congratulated. But also keep in mind, you wear the thumbs in the family.
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