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.

The weather the past couple days has been terribly humid, the sort where a walk out to the driveway to fetch the newspaper dampens your shirt. I’m doing my best to use fans rather than turn on the air-conditioning, though I have succumbed at night in the interest of getting enough sleep to keep a grip on my sanity.

The pets are constantly reminding me that while this au naturel atmosphere might be good for the planet, it is most definitely not good for them. Winston has started to lay on the tile instead of the carpet. And he pulled a new stunt when I got home from the grocery store today.

As I shoved all the produce into the fridge, Winston laid down right in front of the open door. He rolled onto his back to show me his tummy. A plea for attention? I think not. I’m almost certain this was cat speak for, “Please, woman, I beg you. Clear a little space for me in that big, cold box.”