By Samra Jones Bufkins
Things have calmed down in the past few days, but at 6:15 this morning, sound asleep, I felt a presence looking down on me.
Bill was standing next to the bed with a scowl on his face.
Pointing his finger he demanded “What are you doing?”
Softly, I said “Sleeping. It’s 6:15 in the morning.”
“Bullshit!” he exclaimed, walking toward the door. He turned on the overhead light, came back toward the bed and struggled to say “You need to come to the kitchen and we need to make some food.”
Still too groggy to process, I said “You’re pretty good at that. Please, let’s sleep some more. It’s too early to get up.”
We hadn’t had our ritual “kitty time,” when the cats snuggle and purr with us before we get up. I wasn’t ready to sacrifice that on a chilly morning before dawn.
I closed my eyes, and soon felt insistent tapping on my shoulder.
“You’re lazy!” he yelled.
Heading out into the hall, he turned on all the lights in his path.
I rolled over, pulled the covers over my head, and closed my eyes.
A few minutes later he came back in, a sullen expression on his face, turned on the bedside lamp on my side of the bed, then silently crawled into bed on his side, with his shoes on (he puts on shoes for even a short trip to the toilet). By now I had the blanket pulled over my face.
A minute or two later our ginger brothers, Garfield and Gonzo, were smothering me with kitty kisses. Their (unrelated) sidekick Gizmo joined us.
Bill petted all three boys and said “cute kitties” as the purring reached a gentle roar. Snuggling Gizmo close, he settled down in our cozy bed.
He’s sound asleep now.
And of course, I’m wide awake.