Winston rarely gives us the gift of sleeping through the night. He usually wakes me at 6 a.m. by pawing at me, biting me or jumping onto my head (I wish I were joking about that). That might be a fine alarm clock for some, but given that I go to bed between 1 and 2 a.m., he’s getting me up in the middle of the night.
When he does sleep late, it’s usually because I’ve left some article of clothing on the floor by the bed that he can curl up on. This was the case a couple nights ago. When I woke in the morning, he was still curled on my sweatshirt, perfectly quiet. What joy! He had allowed me to sleep through the night.
I started sneezing as I seem to do every morning lately because of allergies. I had already had a sneezing fit in the middle of the night, and in my fumbling for the tissue box on the nightstand, the book that was sitting there had been pushed to a precarious spot at the edge of the nightstand. In the morning, when I reached out to grab a tissue, my coordination was a little off and I knocked into the book. It dropped onto sound-asleep Winston. And maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad had this not been a hefty hard-back book that weighs several pounds. By cat standards, I dropped a literary boulder onto him. He bolted out of the room.
I’m feeling guilty, and also pretty certain that Winston isn’t going to sleep through the night again for a very long time. It’s hard to blame him now for jumping on my head.