Why am I up at 8:30 on a Sunday?
I was awoken
By a single thunderclap
And a cuddly cat
At... one moment, let me check by delicate scientific equipment... STUPID o'clock this morning there was a single, deafening clap of thunder and the skies dumped what sounded like a huge bucket of rain on the ground all at once. It didn't last long but the thunderclap was deafening and the cat, usually blase to such things, jumped onto the bed in terror and insisted on cuddling. Since then I haven't been able to get back to sleep properly, though I had some strange dreams about rain. The cat was content to cuddle at my feet (converting his weight to six tons in the process) until - and this is the really unusual part - I woke up before him.
I was tempted, momentarily, by the thought of revenge. To claw at him, to knock his toys loudly onto the ground, to meow like a klaxon into his ear or to try and mate with his head (all tactics he uses to wake me up at 6am or earlier) but in the end they seemed like too much effort. Full of cheap catfood and drunk on catnip he has now lurched out into the morning light to terrorise birds, small mammals and female cats with equal measure, sort of like a furry, and cuter, Oliver Reed.
Leaving me, awake but tired.
Bloody weather.
By a single thunderclap
And a cuddly cat
At... one moment, let me check by delicate scientific equipment... STUPID o'clock this morning there was a single, deafening clap of thunder and the skies dumped what sounded like a huge bucket of rain on the ground all at once. It didn't last long but the thunderclap was deafening and the cat, usually blase to such things, jumped onto the bed in terror and insisted on cuddling. Since then I haven't been able to get back to sleep properly, though I had some strange dreams about rain. The cat was content to cuddle at my feet (converting his weight to six tons in the process) until - and this is the really unusual part - I woke up before him.
I was tempted, momentarily, by the thought of revenge. To claw at him, to knock his toys loudly onto the ground, to meow like a klaxon into his ear or to try and mate with his head (all tactics he uses to wake me up at 6am or earlier) but in the end they seemed like too much effort. Full of cheap catfood and drunk on catnip he has now lurched out into the morning light to terrorise birds, small mammals and female cats with equal measure, sort of like a furry, and cuter, Oliver Reed.
Leaving me, awake but tired.
Bloody weather.