No doubt about it, the cat rules the house. (why did spell correct underline ‘the’?) Just this morning, she blew into our bedroom at 4am, demanding attention and a lap. On the bed, yowling in my face in that way only a Siamese can yowl, like a cross between a Chinese opera and a tornado siren.
Good thing I went to bed at 8, and was able to get up without throwing her across the room. Terry mumbled something, and I told him to go back to sleep. So I got up, performed morning ablutions, and turned on the coffee pot. All while having a mumbling (no longer yowling, thank goodness) cat winding through my ankles, apparently trying to kill me so she can lay on top of my still-warm corpse. Or something. Once the coffee was done and a cup was poured, I sat down to think, and she got in my lap (where she remains, an hour later) and promptly fell asleep. I would say “stupid cat” but there is nothing stupid about it, is there. She got me up and made me provide her with her preferred sleeping surface, at 4 in the am.
And to think I am considering getting another one, since Phleudles met an untimely demise in the road. At 4 in the am, it is not seeming like the wisest of moves. To Gracie’s credit, once she was on the bed and I tucked her under my arm, she quit yowling, but she did start purring loudly and sanding my ear with her tongue.
Probably a nap will happen, sometime around 10am.