After being stomped and prodded on this morning, followed by a fluffy tail placed strategically close to my face, I promptly got up. Half an hour later, I find Smudge still lounging on the bed contemplating his day.
He is a paradox—his actions both predictable and unexpected. Sometimes early morning, he will snuggle on the bed making himself comfy. Yesterday, as I rolled over on my side, Smudge bulldozed his way between a gap in the covers beside me. Turning around, he parked his head on the pillow, his body, hidden under the doona. The big mog has always been a connoisseur of comfort. He has numerous beds, his own rug and regularly uses my belly as a makeshift cushion. During winter, he hogs the heater.
Last night before getting ready for bed, I let Smudge out hoping that he’d do his business in the garden. Later, I checked the opened, front door, his usual sleeping spots, and called out his name several times. Ten minutes later, I found him hiding in the kitchen.
I was typing this entry at my desk when Smudge reached up and spiked my thigh. Not happy! As he released his paw, a claw remained caught in my pants. The harder he pulled, the deeper it became embedded in the fabric. While trying to separate us, I slowly slid off the chair, but he kept tugging. I’m embarrassed to say that after dropping my pants, Smudge finally managed to draw his paw free.