Beabea: (beside bed) Mama? Are you sleepin?
Literata: (facedown in pillow) mmph
B: (jumps up on bed) Mama! You sleep??
L: (mumble) I was.
B: (climbs up on top of my back) Oh good. Now you ‘wake, you give pettins!
L: Not with you sitting there.
B: (settles down into “loaf” shape squarely in the center of my back) Whyfor not?
L: For because I can’t reach you.
B: (purrs gently) Yehs you can. Right here.
L: My arms don’t bend that way.
B: Silleh hoomins. You should fix!
L: I’ll get right on that.
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About Literata
Literata is a Wiccan who studies theaology and enjoys developing poetry and rituals. Her work has appeared in several anthologies, including
Mandragora,
Anointed, and
Queen of the Sacred Way as well as multiple periodicals. When she's not leading Rose Coven, reading Tarot, or communing with nature, she works on her Ph.D. dissertation in history and enjoys travel and spending time with her husband and four cats.
Please note that everything Literata writes here is solely her own personal opinion. It does not represent the position of any organization with which she is affiliated.
Mine are good about not waking me up, to the point where I will wake from a deep and restful sleep to find a gray tabby on the nighttable, staring at me. When I open my eyes, she’ll trot over to cuddle. It’s very polite, but not all my visitors appreciate the extreme watchfulness.
Cats tend to nominate themselves as supervisors of just about any human effort, I’ve found.
My older two are good about that, but the younger two, not so much. Beabea’s sister is handicapped (a/k/a The World’s Clumsiest Cat, or Clumsy Cat) and can’t get up on the bed by herself, so she sits and mews to be picked up. In the last few months, she’s gotten better about not doing it in the middle of the night, and now starts her demands at a more reasonable volume and goes away if she doesn’t get an answer after three or four tries.
Were cold, wet noses involved at any point?
One of my kitties has a nose like a dog, and uses it.
No, but I did notice that I’m going to need to trim her claws. (That was reason #2 I didn’t roll over.)