Between a Bath and a Hard Place

I have slept alone for, well, at least five years.  I left the marital bed because of extreme hatred.  And the snoring.  I have recently been told that I, too, snore, and it was corroborated by my daughter.  So, I have to reconcile myself to the fact that I am a snorer as well, but as they say, I digress…

So now I am regularly sleeping with someone, which is wonderful, especially because I don’t hate him — yet — (spit between my fingers, I don’t mean, or want, to think about that), but here’s the thing:

The cat wanders in the bedroom about 5:30 am.  She nibbles on as many toes as she can before getting escorted off the bed, and then settles in as close to me as possible to have her wake up bath.  Sometimes this is a full on, leg in the air like a mast, feet scratching in the ears, bath.  So, I’m squished between the Queen of Sheba, there, and another body.

Bengal-cat-holds-leg-in-the-air[1]

Beats the hell out of most alternatives, however, so I’m happy to be between a bath and a hard place — another body — get your mind out of the gutter.

Or not.  Your choice.

Moving on

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