Monday, March 27, 2017
Last night I was awakened out of a lovely deep sleep by the sensation that I had lost not only the use of my legs but the feeling in both of them. It was pretty scary. I dislike sleeping on my back, since by morning, at my age, I am reduced to beached whale status and need to claw my way over to the edge of the bed before I even think about getting up. Try telling that to an overeager bladder.
Anyway, I finally realized that I was not paralyzed from the knees down, I was trapped by a sleeping twelve pound cat draped gloriously and enthusiastically across my ankles. When I reached down as far as I could I encountered, not Charlie and his cloud of floaty fur, but a sleek, groomed creature and I thought, oh my stars, Toby is sleeping across my knees...Toby who rarely gets close enough to pat,
Toby who streaks through each room that has humans in it, who has only recently decided if Charlie can get brushed, well he wants some too. But only between the shoulder blades, thank you.
There he was, snoring delicately away, all eight pounds of him, making sure my knees didn't rise up and float off, and Charlie at the bottom, protecting my ankles from the same fate. Suddenly I understood that I was going to keep that position all night, if necessary, because, Toby. And I did.
Then again, twenty pounds of cats is nothing to be trifled with, in any position.
Posted by mittens at 9:55 PM