Tag Archives: bed

Unbloated Bliss

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Get Off My Pillow!

Years ago after finishing his breakfast and dinner, Smudge used to burn around the house—fuelled with energy that sent his paws into hyperdrive. Now literally lighter after using his litter tray and leaving a lingering door, he races down the hallway and round the house in a state of euphoria.

Every morning he wakes me up for his breakfast constantly pawing my cheek, flicking his tail across my nose, or placing his backside in my face. I spring-up, then zombie-like feed him and stumble back to bed. Later he’ll return and snuggle next to me.

In contrast, it’s been awhile since he has slept on the bed all night because I snore. Or maybe it was when my belly was full of chicken, veggies and a big serve of Jerusalem Artichokes—a winter root vegetable—delicious when roasted.

Unfortunately, the later has a bad effect on me… After eating artichokes my belly swells up like a balloon, full of wind. It was that night Smudge leap on the bed and tried to snooze, but for hours I was burping and banging. In the morning, I wasn’t quite as bloated and he was still there. Apart from getting-up to have breakfast, Smudge remained curled-up like a snail shell for the rest of the day.

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Flat Belly.

Since the artichoke episode, Smudge hasn’t slept over. It’s an excellent deterrent for a cat-free zone, but an unpleasant experience.

However, it’s a way of getting him back for my daily torture.

The Human.

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Morning Madness

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I deserve comfort.

It’s hot, my eyes open and focus on the clock. ‘Oh no!’ I’ve slept in courtesy of Smudge waking me at 6.00am and having stayed up till 2.00am this morning. Since I changed his wet food, the big mog is obsessed with his breakfast and tortures me until I get up. (See previous post for methods of torture)!

I stumble out of bed and open a sachet of cat food, placing it in his bowl. Gobbling up three quarters of the fish pieces, there’s no sauce left. I cover the leftovers with plastic wrap and rush to get ready for work. Already on my bed, Smudge makes himself comfy.

The rest of the day it’s difficult to concentrate and others tell me I look terrible.

Last month, I caught-up with a friend who asked why I was so tired. When I told her about Smudge’s obsession with breakfast, she rolled her eyes and told me to close the bedroom door. I did—there was miaowing and scratching from the hallway. He’d then lunge at the door if it wasn’t securely closed, forcing it open…

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My tail and secret weapon.

The other night, Smudge snuggled on the bed with me. The next day I had bags under my eyes and my brain was scrambled. The furball had woken me up at 5.00am. To avoid ninja paws and a suffocating tail, I constantly turned over and ducked under the doona, but to no avail. My tormentor was diligent, showed no mercy, and was enjoying himself.

The Human.

 

 

Bed Time Antics And Other High Jinks

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Smudge lounging on the bed.

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.

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Snoozing again and ‘those claws’.

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.

The Human.

Moggie Joker

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Smudge looking innocent sitting on a towel on top of a heating duct.

According to Smudge, I’m responsible for his care and comfort. Unfortunately, I’m also the constant source of his amusement.

His on again/off again use of the new, house-litter tray—I keep the flap open with a cushion—is exasperating. Lately for entertainment, Smudge deliberately steps inside and churns up the fresh litter before quickly making an exit. Of course, he’s anticipating that I’ll check to see if he’s used the tray again. Cleaning it is not one of my favourite pastimes. ‘Tricked again!’

It’s late, I’m in bed typing on my laptop when he suddenly jumps up and tries to bulldoze his head into the folds of the doona. Finally, after stomping around, he’s curled up at my feet.

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Churning up the kitty litter.

Smudge will sit at the front door testing how many times I’ll spend opening  and closing the door for him. Or, sprawled across his rug, I’ll toss him a small, rubber ball and immediately he whacks it with his right paw. Airborne, it reaches the dining room, lands near the buffet, bounces and rolls underneath the dining table and chairs. He yawns, as I’m expected to retrieve it. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

The other morning after his breakfast, he was loitering in the hallway when I sauntered past. Suddenly, he extended his paw and I tripped over. Surprised, I stood up and turned around. ‘Why did you do that for?’

Although sitting upright and looking nonchalant, I detected a glint in his eyes. ‘Gotch ya!’

The Human.

Sleep – I Wish

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Comfy.

A connoisseur of comfort, Smudge has many sleeping spots around the house. His favourite places are an armchair and the couch, the bottom shelf in the hall cupboard, on top of an overnight bag and of course, my bed – mostly when I’m absent.

Due to my study efforts and feeling ignored, he is sleeping back on the bed at night with me. I’d prefer that he didn’t because having a bony chin stuck into my leg is really uncomfortable. I’m a restless sleeper and with Smudge on the bed, I feel guilty turning on my side, rolling onto my back and constantly turning while he stays curled up in the same position for ages.

Recently, I can’t tolerate the weight of the doona on my sore foot, especially when a hefty moggie is leaning on my ankle.

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Smudge’s sheet roll.

Early each morning after torturing me to get his breakfast, Smudge will then go outside and patrol his territory. In no time, he will return to bed. When I’m up again he follows me, but sometimes the slacker will snooze for another hour.

Often I wake-up and find myself on one side of the mattress, while the furball is in the centre of the bed, curled up, his eyes and nose hidden underneath a fluffy tail. Yesterday, I found myself balanced on the edge of the bed – literally on a quarter of the mattress – so I shoved him over. Soon Smudge began pawing at my cheeks and flicking his tail across my face.

The Human.

 

 

 

 

Sleep

Smudge the next day sitting on my story drafts.

Smudge, the next day sitting on my work.

Numerous drafts of my story lie on the floor. Smudge is sitting on the last one, which I attempt to retrieve as I need to check something. He’s unimpressed and doesn’t move, as I have been keeping him awake with my noise and the light. Eventually, he relents and curls up in the tub chair.

It’s after 2.30 am, so I complete my bathroom routine and fall into bed. However, sleep is absent as I can’t get comfortable and thoughts continue to roll around in my head.

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Smudge snoozing.

At 6.00 am the mantle clock chimes and I gasp and raise my head, disturbed by a weight on my body. Smudge has plopped himself horizontally across my chest. It’s hard to breathe when a 4.5 kg furball has pinned you down. I manage to turn slightly hoping that he’ll slide off, but he clings on with extended claws. ‘Owhh!’ I’m now fully awake and push him off.

In an attempt to ignore my tormenter, I wrap the doona around my body and bury my face into the pillow, but Smudge hasn’t given up and whacks me in the head. I turn around and his face is 30 cm away from mine, his pupils dilated. After a few seconds of eyeballing each other, he looks away and jumps off the bed. Finally, I’m left in peace… but later I’m woken by a loud, rumbling sound. There are workmen outside operating an excavating machine and Smudge is back on the bed again.

The Human.

Safe

Opps, my tail!

Opps, my tail! 

Lion’s Paws, what was that? I bolt off the bed and try and squeeze behind the dressing table, but get stuck and scratch the wall. There’s that loud crack again! I squish through and wriggle underneath the dresser, the tips of my ears just touching the bottom drawer. The human is awake and rolls out of bed. ‘Are you okay?’ She crouches on all fours, her nose pressed to the floor. I reach out and try and swipe her. ‘Missed?’ she grunts. The human gets up and thumps down the hall. She returns later with my breakfast.

‘Had a bit of trouble squeezing through? You enjoy your food too much, Smudge. Come out,’ but I stay for ages. I feel safe in my small, dark space, although I’ve forgotten to pull in my tail as you can see.

Lately, the human has been entertaining. There are lots of humans, even mini-ones, whom I’m not particularly fond of. When there’s too much noise, I hide under the bed. The mini-humans want to play all the time. I humour them for a while, but really, I just want to snooze. You’d think after a few hisses, they’d get the message, but really, these mini-ones don’t have much between the ears, so I’ll dive under the dresser.

Nice and toasty!

Nice and toasty! 

The heavy water has stopped falling from the sky. I come out and ‘wolf’ down my breakfast, (pardon the pun), then retreat to the human’s bed. Rolling myself up, I feel safe and comfy.

Miaow.