Timmy’s Down The Well?
Thanks to a bad decision to drink a soda with caffeine in it at 10pm last night, I was wide awake until about 3 a.m. That’s not really a bad thing; I played online and then watched some TV while I waited to get sleepy. At 2:30 I turned on the fan in the bedroom, crawled into bed, watched a South Park repeat, and then fell asleep.
An hour later Max jumped on the bed and crawled on top of me, plopping down on me, his little paw poking at my cheek. He was very patient, holding fairly still while he jammed that furry little—and thankfully clawless—paw into my face. He sometimes curls up on me at night and has learned to wake me up just enough that I reach out and pet him; this morning I stirred a little, and started to scratch him under his chin.
He bit me.
This wasn’t a “stop it, I hate you” bite. It was a “hey, I’m trying to get your attention” kind of bite. And he kept poking at my face, a little more insistent with each swipe of his paw.
So I forced myself awake, with two thoughts jumping to mind right off the bat. One was “dammit, cat, let me sleep!” and “Good God, Max, you stink!”
Only it wasn’t Max fouling the air—it was the fan. The motor had started to burn, and the whole room smelling like a combination of burning rubber and dust.
Once I sat up, figured out what was wrong, and got up to turn the fan off (with the lights, out, I don’t know if any smoke was filtering out of it, but it sure smelled like it), Max was content to jump down and get himself something to eat.
I wonder, though, how bad it would have gotten if he hadn’t been so persistent in waking me up. I was dead to the world asleep, and I’ve been known to sleep through the sound of a smoke detector. Spouse Thingy was, because of my late-night crawlings around the house and strange need to watch TV for a while before going to sleep, in the spare bedroom with the door closed.
The worst of it was a fan we had to throw out. No big deal.
But if that cat hadn’t been so pushy… who knows? It might have been nothing; I might have smelled it at some point and woken up. But then again, it might have caught fire. Along with the walls and everything else in that room.
Damned smart PsychoKitty.
He deserves a treat.
Thanks to a bad decision to drink a soda with caffeine in it at 10pm last night, I was wide awake until about 3 a.m. That’s not really a bad thing; I played online and then watched some TV while I waited to get sleepy. At 2:30 I turned on the fan in the bedroom, crawled into bed, watched a South Park repeat, and then fell asleep.
An hour later Max jumped on the bed and crawled on top of me, plopping down on me, his little paw poking at my cheek. He was very patient, holding fairly still while he jammed that furry little—and thankfully clawless—paw into my face. He sometimes curls up on me at night and has learned to wake me up just enough that I reach out and pet him; this morning I stirred a little, and started to scratch him under his chin.
He bit me.
This wasn’t a “stop it, I hate you” bite. It was a “hey, I’m trying to get your attention” kind of bite. And he kept poking at my face, a little more insistent with each swipe of his paw.
So I forced myself awake, with two thoughts jumping to mind right off the bat. One was “dammit, cat, let me sleep!” and “Good God, Max, you stink!”
Only it wasn’t Max fouling the air—it was the fan. The motor had started to burn, and the whole room smelling like a combination of burning rubber and dust.
Once I sat up, figured out what was wrong, and got up to turn the fan off (with the lights, out, I don’t know if any smoke was filtering out of it, but it sure smelled like it), Max was content to jump down and get himself something to eat.
I wonder, though, how bad it would have gotten if he hadn’t been so persistent in waking me up. I was dead to the world asleep, and I’ve been known to sleep through the sound of a smoke detector. Spouse Thingy was, because of my late-night crawlings around the house and strange need to watch TV for a while before going to sleep, in the spare bedroom with the door closed.
The worst of it was a fan we had to throw out. No big deal.
But if that cat hadn’t been so pushy… who knows? It might have been nothing; I might have smelled it at some point and woken up. But then again, it might have caught fire. Along with the walls and everything else in that room.
Damned smart PsychoKitty.
He deserves a treat.
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