Ack, Fooey, Furball

I woke up at 4:15 this morning.
I was spooning the cat.


I was lying kind of half on my side, half on my back (bolstered by body pillows on either side) and at some point he stretched out next to me, set his head on my shoulder, and snuggled close. When he realized I was awake, he tilted his head back and rubbed it against my chin—either “Good Morning, how ya doin’?” or “Move and I’ll bite you”—and then settled back down.

Good thing I didn’t need to roll over. I scratched his little head for a minute and then went back to sleep, and he stayed there until Spouse Thingy got up for work at 5. PsychoKitty has his routines, and the Most Important Very Early Thing is to try to trip the Spouse Thingy on the stairs at 5:15 every morning. So when he heard Spouse Thingy get up, he launched off the bed (no, I didn’t need those boobs anymore, thank you) and let me sleep until after 9 a.m.

He has been extremely affectionate lately. If I’ve been out of the house for any length of time, he comes running, complete with an excited feline squeal, as soon as I’m through the door. He’s not pestering me to get up and feed him two hours early. He curls up on me while I watch TV, and he “helps” me type.

I’d like to believe he’s just maturing and enjoy my company, but I know better.
That cat is plotting something.
I am afraid. Truly afraid…

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