Dateline: The Farm. 3:45 a.m., September 27, 2005
I am sleeping deeply, enjoying a very pleasant dream (can’t remember now what it was about), when it happens. First the heavy weight going across my back. From the way my body feels as I wake up, I know I am in need of a chiropractic adjustment I don’t have the money for right now. Never mind — try to go back to sleep.
Sleep, however, is impossible. A soft paw pats my face. “Meow,” says the one cat on the planet bold enough to wake me up in the middle of the night. Bubba-Thor wants something. He can wait; I roll over. He follows me, walking back across my back and patting my face on the other exposed cheek. I raise my arm to cover my face. He persists.
Now, what he wants is food. The cat food bag is standing on the floor, wide open — all he has to do is stick his nose in the bag and he can eat all he could ever want in one sitting. There is even a saucer on the floor with bits of fat from the ribeye steak I ate for supper last night. This is also a cat that easily will top the scales at more than 20 lbs. Bubba could very well wait… two and a half hours for breakfast. But, oh, no, what this cat wants is for me to get up and fill his bowl. Now. No excuses, no delays.
If I ever want to be allowed to sleep again in this lifetime… I get up, go fill the stupid bowl, stop by the lgr (little girls’ room) and go back to bed… where I lie in bed, tossing and turning, wide awake. Boogers!
And that is why I am posting to my blog at 4:30 a.m. Maybe, with a little luck, I can get about another hours’ sleep before I have to be at work?