What to do when your cat has needs...
Thursday was the first night in the last month that I slept through the entire night.
I had a series of hypotheses regarding the reasons for my sudden insomnia, some relating to medications, others to stress, others to, well, lack of certain satisfactions that shall remain nameless, not for shame but rather for the heightened pleasure afforded by ellipsis.
Those come crumbling to a fine powder here in my midnight hands. I know now why I am not sleeping.
Last night we stayed up late, copas en mano, after all the conference guests (save for us, the diehard few) had left. Movies shown, panels performed. I. had insisted on spending the night there, and slept on the small sofa that would be pulled out and made into a bed on the living room floor. At 2:30, just about this hour now, we finally retired, S. to her bedroom, C. to her house two blocks away. I slept well, but certainly not enough.
I. has been waking in the middle of the night. She surreptitiously slips into bed with me, every night. I am programmed, like the hotel California, to receive. Tomight there are two little girls in my large bed, her little friend slept over, and now, as I write, came hesitantly into the frame of the door, claiming fright, but seeking warmth. None of these are the reasons for my, dormus interuptis...
I discovered tonight it is my pretty little puss... the thing that is waking me every night, climbing up with her little paws on my chest, thrusting her pointy little nose into my face, my neck, my ear... and then sucking with abandon, until I toss her off. She comes back for more, once, twice, three times. I sit up and she crawls into my arms, climbs halfway up in ecstasy. God, I think, this cat is more demanding than even I! (Well, some might beg to differ, but they would be few and far between - away?)
So, quite soon I will be divested of such feline urgencies, and in their lieu, suffering altitude sickness, and smog ingestion. My own needs being met? Ha. I have acquiesced to having my bed be in the living room, as my one and only goal for the summer (beyond copious amounts of work) is to NOT create any intrigue, nor entwine myself with relationships beyond the merely literary sort.
I had a series of hypotheses regarding the reasons for my sudden insomnia, some relating to medications, others to stress, others to, well, lack of certain satisfactions that shall remain nameless, not for shame but rather for the heightened pleasure afforded by ellipsis.
Those come crumbling to a fine powder here in my midnight hands. I know now why I am not sleeping.
Last night we stayed up late, copas en mano, after all the conference guests (save for us, the diehard few) had left. Movies shown, panels performed. I. had insisted on spending the night there, and slept on the small sofa that would be pulled out and made into a bed on the living room floor. At 2:30, just about this hour now, we finally retired, S. to her bedroom, C. to her house two blocks away. I slept well, but certainly not enough.
I. has been waking in the middle of the night. She surreptitiously slips into bed with me, every night. I am programmed, like the hotel California, to receive. Tomight there are two little girls in my large bed, her little friend slept over, and now, as I write, came hesitantly into the frame of the door, claiming fright, but seeking warmth. None of these are the reasons for my, dormus interuptis...
I discovered tonight it is my pretty little puss... the thing that is waking me every night, climbing up with her little paws on my chest, thrusting her pointy little nose into my face, my neck, my ear... and then sucking with abandon, until I toss her off. She comes back for more, once, twice, three times. I sit up and she crawls into my arms, climbs halfway up in ecstasy. God, I think, this cat is more demanding than even I! (Well, some might beg to differ, but they would be few and far between - away?)
So, quite soon I will be divested of such feline urgencies, and in their lieu, suffering altitude sickness, and smog ingestion. My own needs being met? Ha. I have acquiesced to having my bed be in the living room, as my one and only goal for the summer (beyond copious amounts of work) is to NOT create any intrigue, nor entwine myself with relationships beyond the merely literary sort.
posted by ilana at 2:23 a.m.
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