Morning becomes electric
Feb. 1st, 2010 10:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceIt may be that one lives a lifetime with cats and never actually gets to understand them.
Barry likes to sleep beside me on the bed. In cold weather, he tends to wedge himself in good and tight against me. That's it, that's what he does.
In all the years we've lived together, I do not suppose he's accumulated a single night's-worth of actually sleeping on top of me. The occasional half-hour now and then, yes, but they have been truly occasional, and the moment I shifted, he'd be off.
Last night? He apparently needed to be sleeping on me. All night long. And whenever I turned over he would reluctantly cede me the space to do that, and then climb directly aboard again, on my belly or my hip or the small of my back depending on the space available.
Oof. Where are my slender girls of yesteryear? Baz is not a light creature, not made of light, oh no; and he acquires extra mass when sleeping. He sleeps, in effect, like a cannonball, if cannonballs are contented. Which is, um, not conducive to much sleep for the person underneath him.
So there was that. And I already love my TENS machine, but I haven't been able to get near it today. Although I have had a completely lovely evening - a talk by Farah Mendlesohn, on Geoffrey Trease and cryptocommunism, largely; followed by food and a little pub and so forth - I did end it exceeding ouchie. And now there is no time to settle down and be electrified for an hour or so, because I need to go to bed on account of exceeding tiredness (see above, under Barry: being under Barry). So: a hot bath, a handful of drugs, and a promise of electrification in the morning.
And will I get to play cat-mattress again tonight? Who knows? It's warmer, so he may not want the body-heat beneath him; but he may have got the taste for it already. Or of course he may just spurn me. Tea was unacceptably late tonight; this is not the service they are entitled to expect...
Barry likes to sleep beside me on the bed. In cold weather, he tends to wedge himself in good and tight against me. That's it, that's what he does.
In all the years we've lived together, I do not suppose he's accumulated a single night's-worth of actually sleeping on top of me. The occasional half-hour now and then, yes, but they have been truly occasional, and the moment I shifted, he'd be off.
Last night? He apparently needed to be sleeping on me. All night long. And whenever I turned over he would reluctantly cede me the space to do that, and then climb directly aboard again, on my belly or my hip or the small of my back depending on the space available.
Oof. Where are my slender girls of yesteryear? Baz is not a light creature, not made of light, oh no; and he acquires extra mass when sleeping. He sleeps, in effect, like a cannonball, if cannonballs are contented. Which is, um, not conducive to much sleep for the person underneath him.
So there was that. And I already love my TENS machine, but I haven't been able to get near it today. Although I have had a completely lovely evening - a talk by Farah Mendlesohn, on Geoffrey Trease and cryptocommunism, largely; followed by food and a little pub and so forth - I did end it exceeding ouchie. And now there is no time to settle down and be electrified for an hour or so, because I need to go to bed on account of exceeding tiredness (see above, under Barry: being under Barry). So: a hot bath, a handful of drugs, and a promise of electrification in the morning.
And will I get to play cat-mattress again tonight? Who knows? It's warmer, so he may not want the body-heat beneath him; but he may have got the taste for it already. Or of course he may just spurn me. Tea was unacceptably late tonight; this is not the service they are entitled to expect...