Scrape, scrape, scrape…
It’s early. I raise my head from the pillow and squint.
Dexter, you git.
I flail to the other side of the bed and wave my arms futilely in the general direction of the noise/destruction.
‘No Dex, naughty, no, no…..NO, stoppit!’
I hear loud, satisfied purring, and something soft and fluffy grazes my fingertips.
The scratching stops. I fall back on the pillows and seek further solace in the merry old land of Nod and just as I almost get to the end of that pillow brick road….
Scrape, scrape, purr, scrape, purr, scrape, PURR, PURR….
I slide inevitably from bed to floor, stumble to my feet, and stagger after the perky, self satisfied little brat to the kitchen, fill two bowls with cat food then head off back to bed.
Crunch, crunch, crunch….
That should keep them occupied for a little while.
Sleep don’t come easy, boy please believe me…
Nearly there, three or four more downy soft, floaty steps at most….
Another feline visitor; a furry skull pushes at my hand with surprising force. I pat it. Smooth not fluffy.
I groan. I know what’s coming.
I bathe every day unless I’m really ill, but that doesn’t cut it with little Chaz. Ignoring my noises of protest, he firmly, thoroughly, and meticulously wipes his chops all over me, teeth grazing my skin, giving me an occaisional nip lest I even think to escape, liberally and thoroughly coating me with cat spit.
After about 15 minutes of these tender mercies, I am awake and spitty, and Charlie, satisfied, plonks himself onto my (full) bladder, circles a few times then settles down for a recuperative nap. Dex, tummy now full, assured that I am now totally beyond sleep, hops up and joins him.
Just another morning Chez Sertraline.