I’m trying to start 2013 off on the right foot, blogging-wise. Here’s a recollection of a short but crazy creation of my sleeping subconscious last night.
Dream: I am starring in a stage production of Little Shop of Horrors as Seymour Krelborn. I know. So, I’m doing the show, and suddenly, the orchestra comes to a crashing halt (yes, full orchestra!), and I hear some yowling offstage. A shadow appears, and makes his way into the stage lights: it’s my horrifyingly human-sized cat (also named Seymour in real life, ironically), dressed up as Puss in Boots from Shrek (which I’ve never seen). He strides over to me, jabs a paw/claw into my chest, and yells in a thick New Yawk accent, “That is MY paht!” I give him a petrified look, and wake up.
Happy 2013, y’all.
It’s early. I blearily steal a glance at my alarm clock, which obnoxiously glows 5:46. Why am I awake? I feel a rustling under the covers and pull them up slightly, only to be met with a pair of wide, furtive eyes and a tentative meow. This mobile, feline wake-up-call returns to gently batting at what has so captured his attention: my, uh, how you say, family jewels.
Cut to another morning this week. It’s early, of course. I’m awoken by a quiet mewling and the ginger pressure of a kitten paw on my arm. I open my eyes to see the culprit stretch in annoyingly cute fashion, stand up, and do a full turn inches from my face. He settles back down after making himself comfortable, places his butt right in front of my squinty morning eyes and lets out a big, airy fart.
He got pushed off the bed for that one. Continue reading