Squeak on the brain
Well, not exactly. But close. That much is literally true.
Around 7 AM here in Casa Milán several things tend to happen at once. I need to get up and go offload fluids. Emma Dog wants to go outside, for approximately the same reason. And Squeak, my deranged and adored black cat, decides she has to lie on my chest and be cuddled.
I may have mentioned this before: how she’ll come and stand with her front feet on my shoulder, by way of demanding that I roll onto my back so she can settle in. If that doesn’t work she’ll hop all the way up and perch there. Sometimes that won’t work either, and I’ll awaken later to find her lying asleep on my upper shoulder. Which I find sweet and amusing (if I wasn’t a Pet Mark Squeak would’ve met an awful end long since.)
So this morning I got a new wrinkle. I put out Emma, then came back in and lay down on my right side hoping to get a couple minutes’ sleep before Emma decides she has to come in. I find that the longer I stay awake under such circumstances the harder it is to get back to sleep, so every little bit helps.
Anyway, I’d hardly gotten settled in when here came Squeak. Who promptly reared back and planted her forepaws on my left ear.
“Squeak,” I said. “You’re standing on my head.”
(“Why, yes, Daddy. How nice of you to notice!”)
So I duly rolled over, picking her up and planting her on my sternum in the process. I put my hands over her and we both drifted off to sleep. At least until Emma barked outside the window shortly thereafter…
I hope the cat doesn’t make a habit of that. She’s heavy.