It’s 4:00 a.m. and I am awake, and after various attempts to cope with insomnia and tire myself (internet browsing, Facebook, etc) I have come to the conclusion that I envy my cats. Toby and Timba are the only things still and asleep on my bed. Meanwhile my eyes have tiny invisible toothpicks propping them open and I can’t decide whether my mind is racing faster or my restless legs. I am out of my medication and dealing with all the fickle roadblocks of Obama(doesn’t)care in addition to the side effects of missing even one night’s dose. Now I have to find a new doctor, but I’m taking that relatively in stride. Such are the things we humans must deal with.
But not cats. What blissful lives they live, that is, if they are in a loving home. Free from worry and stress, regular meals, toys and perches and permanent retirement looking out sunny windows all day, plus love and affection. And sleep. Oh the sleep! They typically sleep 15 hours a day and some can sleep up to 20 hours in a 24 hour period. Therefore, the fact that my cats will be waking up at kitty peak time around dawn bears no significance for them in terms of insomnia. Whereas I will be dreadfully miserable when dawn hits in a few hours, knowing that the alarm is set for 8:00 a.m.
Perhaps around 7:00 a.m., when my body succumbs to a mere hour of teasing rest, I will wake suddenly to a game of chase, or Toby launching from my body, or Toby nudging my hands for a petting, or Timba walking on my body with the weight of three Tobys, his paws drilling into my pliable “I’m not fat, I’m fluffy” flesh. Timba is my drill sergeant who faithfully yet indiscriminately employs his duties on a daily basis. In the daytime, if I am lying on my bed, I can anticipate and thwart a painful crossing over my body (because of course cats are geometrically in tune – “the shortest distance between two points is a straight line”).
But when I am asleep, when I am asleep, I usually do not know I’m being abused. Instead I wake up the next day wondering why I’m sore in certain places, or where those small circular bruises came from. And when I fail to clip their claws in a timely fashion, I have the added bonus of prick wounds here and there and in the oddest of places. Unfortunately my new bed has somehow caused me to start lying on my back some nights, and these are the worst for kitty paw injuries. My sides could handle it, from head to toe. Tougher skin there?
At any rate, there’s nothing like an abdominal thrust in the morning to jump-start my day. Maybe Toby’s launch or both of them walking on me is really an attempt to ensure proper diaphragm functioning. Honestly though, the “oomph” of a whoosh of air that comes out of me as I wake to unmindful kitties isn’t what I’d call a befitting breathing boost. (Sigh) But I love them. Despite my jealous streak regarding their luxurious lives and in spite of their interference with my beauty sleep, I pardon them and cuddle them and continue to write affectionately about them. Dream on little kitties, the sweetest of sleeps I bid you. But do you mind, maybe just once, to not flaunt your well-rested, energetic, rearing-to-go bodies and forego the pouncing on the padding of mommy’s tummy? Thanks 🙂