Yesterday morning sometime after 3:57, an avalanche of things crashed to the floor. It seemed to stop then more clattered down.
Fuck, I thought.
I had woken up about a half hour earlier when Blitz started playing with a rock. I was so tired, I tried to figure out how to go back to sleep despite the clacking on the laminate floor. I was too tired to squirt him with the water bottle. Too tired to get up and take his clackety rock away. This is one reason I prefer carpet. It's quieter.
I did go back to sleep.
Then, a cat jumped onto the bed and walked the length of my legs. I don't know which one. Does it matter? By then, it was 3:56 in the morning. My vision is bad, but I have a big-screen alarm clock. Fucking 3:56. I squinted. 3:57 a.m. I know the cats know how to get onto the bed without waking me. I know they know where my body is under the covers. Some mornings, I wake up with my hand on a cat and I have no idea how either the cat or my hand got there without my knowing it. This walking the length of my body has always been a ploy to wake me up.
Like Simon's cat. You've watched Simon's cat, right?
I'd been tricked into giving the cats flaked tuna at night before bed. Oh, it's fun to leave the room at night and have the whole fur family walk with me to the bedroom. I am so popular, I think. It's just the flaked tuna, Mike told me one night. I still liked being popular.
Then, the other morning, Seth, looking scrawny and sad, convinced me that some flaked tuna in the morning was a good idea. Put some meat on your bones, I thought, and gave him a pinch on a little pile of kitten food. Suddenly, I was popular again and Blitz was nosing Seth out of his own bowl. Tuna flakes for everyone, I thought happily.
Bad idea.
After one morning of tuna flake training, I was elevated to next-level tuna flake training. Wake up earlier for tuna flakes. For a few days, I couldn't figure out why I was so exhausted, why I kept waking up a half hour before my alarm, then forty-five minutes, then an hour. My ass was dragging. Really, don't blame me for not getting it. These guys are masterminds.
Then, the kitten got impatient, sloppy. Next-level tuna flake training requires patience and subtlety. Seth had been trying to train him, but he wanted his tuna flakes now. NOW!
Thus, the rock. He'd pulled it off my desk and dropped it. Not enough. Shoot. He needed to walk the length of my body. Well, someone needed to. I was not waking up properly with the clackety rock.
So, when the crash came, I knew it was not an earthquake. I did not think Trump had finally lost the nuclear codes to the North Korean dictator. I knew exactly who was behind this catastrophe.
"Fucking cat!" I yelled.
I found the lamp switch and ripped the CPAP off my face while it blowed air into the air.
"Fucking shit cat," I repeated. I slapped at my CPAP machine until the air stopped blowing.
Mike and Nick surely heard the crash. What the hell was a little more noise? At least this way, they'd know what it was and go back to sleep.
I squinted. No clock blinking red. Teddy stood on the edge of his bed, aggrieved. My fake-Tiffany lamp lay on its side in the middle of his bed. No broken glass. A pile of books lay around it. My clock, unplugged, lay on the floor. Other little rocks, a framed photo, and my saline spray. My candle, the dish it sat on, and a half-burnt cedar punk, scattered.
What the hell?
I reached for my glasses and turned on the overhead light. My eyes ached then focused again. Little black chunks of burnt cedar ash were scattered everywhere. Both cats blinked at me. They tried to look innocent.
"That wasn't me," Seth seemed to say.
"Me neither," Blitz's innocence tried to indicate.
"Get out," I yelled.
Blitz peeled out on the laminate floor and crashed into the door trying to get around the corner.
I closed two sets of doors and before I came back to the crime scene, there was pathetic banging on the outer door. No way in hell. I was going to be alone.
"Shut up." I said more quietly.
The books had come from the top of the bookshelf. That had to be Seth. Blitz couldn't jump that high. The rocks on the floor were Blitz's thing. The clock? Someone tangled in the clock cord. I couldn't quite make out what had happened, but it involved both cats. I was sure of that. Miraculously, nothing was broken, not even the light bulb. Poor Teddy. Everything had probably landed on poor Teddy. He looked exhausted, dark doggie circles hung under his eyes.
I moved everything back into place and patted Teddy's bed.
He wasn't having it. That bed was a hazardous site. He stood by the door, begging to go up to his other bed, the new couch.
Since I knew he was innocent, I opened the doors for him to go out.
Blitz sprinted into the room, then stopped and looked up at me. He rubbed against my legs.
Oh, he did not know how close to a football he had become.
"Get out," I said.
But he only moved a foot or two away before coming back. Seth came around the corner into the hall. He was silent, cautious. Was that an apology? From Seth?
I knew if I closed the door on them, Blitz would rattle that second door until I got up and let him in. So with both doors open, I got back into bed. I put my CPAP mask back on and snuggled down under my covers.
Blitz jumped onto the bed.
Tuna?
"Get Off," I said and pushed him off.
I'm sure I hurt his feelings. I didn't care. Both cats stood at the crime scene pacing silently back and forth.
"Get off," I repeated.
When my alarm went off an hour and a half later, both cats sat innocently on the edge of the bed. I hadn't heard them come up. They hadn't made a sound when they settled in.
I sat up and looked at the clock. 5:50 a.m. Seth sat. Demure. Giving me space. Blitz got up and came over for me to pet him. I resisted the urge to push him off the bed again. I petted him briefly and stood up. Nick's lunch, my smoothie. It was Monday. Busy day. Blitz looked at me with bright eyes.
Tuna?
Thank you for listening, jb
Fuck, I thought.
I had woken up about a half hour earlier when Blitz started playing with a rock. I was so tired, I tried to figure out how to go back to sleep despite the clacking on the laminate floor. I was too tired to squirt him with the water bottle. Too tired to get up and take his clackety rock away. This is one reason I prefer carpet. It's quieter.
I did go back to sleep.
Then, a cat jumped onto the bed and walked the length of my legs. I don't know which one. Does it matter? By then, it was 3:56 in the morning. My vision is bad, but I have a big-screen alarm clock. Fucking 3:56. I squinted. 3:57 a.m. I know the cats know how to get onto the bed without waking me. I know they know where my body is under the covers. Some mornings, I wake up with my hand on a cat and I have no idea how either the cat or my hand got there without my knowing it. This walking the length of my body has always been a ploy to wake me up.
Like Simon's cat. You've watched Simon's cat, right?
I'd been tricked into giving the cats flaked tuna at night before bed. Oh, it's fun to leave the room at night and have the whole fur family walk with me to the bedroom. I am so popular, I think. It's just the flaked tuna, Mike told me one night. I still liked being popular.
Then, the other morning, Seth, looking scrawny and sad, convinced me that some flaked tuna in the morning was a good idea. Put some meat on your bones, I thought, and gave him a pinch on a little pile of kitten food. Suddenly, I was popular again and Blitz was nosing Seth out of his own bowl. Tuna flakes for everyone, I thought happily.
Bad idea.
After one morning of tuna flake training, I was elevated to next-level tuna flake training. Wake up earlier for tuna flakes. For a few days, I couldn't figure out why I was so exhausted, why I kept waking up a half hour before my alarm, then forty-five minutes, then an hour. My ass was dragging. Really, don't blame me for not getting it. These guys are masterminds.
Then, the kitten got impatient, sloppy. Next-level tuna flake training requires patience and subtlety. Seth had been trying to train him, but he wanted his tuna flakes now. NOW!
Thus, the rock. He'd pulled it off my desk and dropped it. Not enough. Shoot. He needed to walk the length of my body. Well, someone needed to. I was not waking up properly with the clackety rock.
So, when the crash came, I knew it was not an earthquake. I did not think Trump had finally lost the nuclear codes to the North Korean dictator. I knew exactly who was behind this catastrophe.
"Fucking cat!" I yelled.
I found the lamp switch and ripped the CPAP off my face while it blowed air into the air.
"Fucking shit cat," I repeated. I slapped at my CPAP machine until the air stopped blowing.
Mike and Nick surely heard the crash. What the hell was a little more noise? At least this way, they'd know what it was and go back to sleep.
I squinted. No clock blinking red. Teddy stood on the edge of his bed, aggrieved. My fake-Tiffany lamp lay on its side in the middle of his bed. No broken glass. A pile of books lay around it. My clock, unplugged, lay on the floor. Other little rocks, a framed photo, and my saline spray. My candle, the dish it sat on, and a half-burnt cedar punk, scattered.
What the hell?
I reached for my glasses and turned on the overhead light. My eyes ached then focused again. Little black chunks of burnt cedar ash were scattered everywhere. Both cats blinked at me. They tried to look innocent.
"That wasn't me," Seth seemed to say.
"Me neither," Blitz's innocence tried to indicate.
"Get out," I yelled.
Blitz peeled out on the laminate floor and crashed into the door trying to get around the corner.
I closed two sets of doors and before I came back to the crime scene, there was pathetic banging on the outer door. No way in hell. I was going to be alone.
"Shut up." I said more quietly.
The books had come from the top of the bookshelf. That had to be Seth. Blitz couldn't jump that high. The rocks on the floor were Blitz's thing. The clock? Someone tangled in the clock cord. I couldn't quite make out what had happened, but it involved both cats. I was sure of that. Miraculously, nothing was broken, not even the light bulb. Poor Teddy. Everything had probably landed on poor Teddy. He looked exhausted, dark doggie circles hung under his eyes.
I moved everything back into place and patted Teddy's bed.
He wasn't having it. That bed was a hazardous site. He stood by the door, begging to go up to his other bed, the new couch.
Since I knew he was innocent, I opened the doors for him to go out.
Blitz sprinted into the room, then stopped and looked up at me. He rubbed against my legs.
Oh, he did not know how close to a football he had become.
"Get out," I said.
But he only moved a foot or two away before coming back. Seth came around the corner into the hall. He was silent, cautious. Was that an apology? From Seth?
I knew if I closed the door on them, Blitz would rattle that second door until I got up and let him in. So with both doors open, I got back into bed. I put my CPAP mask back on and snuggled down under my covers.
Blitz jumped onto the bed.
Tuna?
"Get Off," I said and pushed him off.
I'm sure I hurt his feelings. I didn't care. Both cats stood at the crime scene pacing silently back and forth.
"Get off," I repeated.
When my alarm went off an hour and a half later, both cats sat innocently on the edge of the bed. I hadn't heard them come up. They hadn't made a sound when they settled in.
I sat up and looked at the clock. 5:50 a.m. Seth sat. Demure. Giving me space. Blitz got up and came over for me to pet him. I resisted the urge to push him off the bed again. I petted him briefly and stood up. Nick's lunch, my smoothie. It was Monday. Busy day. Blitz looked at me with bright eyes.
Tuna?
Thank you for listening, jb
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