Squish Squash Poke

Most bedrooms are sanctuaries for the people who call them home. They love their bed, soft and squishy or hard and firm. They love the sun that shines through the windows or the darkness that envelopes courtesy of sun hating blinds. I much enjoy my bedroom like those people do. except where most people enjoy it for a solid eight hours, I get a measly five or six tops.

Squash, Squish

Here goes the cat on her from A to Z instead of A to B journey to her spot next to my head. Squash on my ear. Squish on my nose. On a good night passes right on by and settles in with the vibrating purr that helps us both snooze. Most nights she settles instead for a squish squash melody on my face. The ultimate sign of feline love and devotion the cat  loving liars tell me. She finally sighs a kitty sigh and flops down. Sweet slumber returns.

But here we  go again. This time the sun is barely peeking through the blinds when I feel the first poke. This intrusion is not of the four-legged furry variety but the two-legged wanting milk now variety.

Time to get up. The cat? Oh she slides over to where my head was just laying and curls up in the impression left behind.

I suspect it was her plan all along.

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