Nothing to improve a Saturday morning like stepping in a steaming pile of cat puke.
This after virtually a whole night spent feeling like Donald Duck in one of those old Merry Melody cartoons. You know, the one where Donald is trying in vain to sleep but one thing after another seems to confound his efforts?
My first mistake was eating a snack too late. I’ve discovered, much to my dismay, that if I eat much later than 8:30 or nine at night, I will invariably wake in the middle of the night even hungrier. It must kick-start my metabolism, kind of like a second wind for my appetite. And in case you’re not a regular reader, I have a very low tolerance for being hungry. It makes me cranky and miserable, especially when I’m trying to sleep. So then I eat a little “mid-night” snack, which is really nothing more than me grabbing something as I make a small circuit from the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the bathroom to pee, and then back to the bedroom. And since I usually wake up multiple times a night, catalyzing this routine usually results in several repetitions of this routine, as the more I eat in the middle of the night, the hungrier I am each time I wake up. I’m usually okay if I can fall right back to sleep; I can take a sip or two of juice and be fine. I try to drink juice or milk or even water in place of eating, but sometimes that just aggravates my bladder and then I can’t sleep because I keep having to pee… And then when I get up for good in the morning, I already have five hundred calories under my belt (pardon the pun) to try to work off for the day.
And then the damn cats– Methos, specifically. He’s always doing irritating shit, like butting into the black out curtains and letting in light from the lamp outside my window. He’s learned that he doesn’t have to run away unless I actually get out of the bed, so after like the fifth time he opened my blinds, I finally got up to lock him in the laundry room. Chloe hears the door shut, knew she was next (cuz that’s where the litter boxes are), so she led me a merry chase around the coffee table trying to evade capture.
It sounds ridiculous even as I type it.
So, last night was spent in a semi-comatose swirl of eating, drinking, peeing, tossing, and turning. All of J*’s stirrings made me anxious, as I dreaded her waking early and me having to get up and stay up.
Hubby had a headache this morning, but I managed to beg him into getting up with J* so I could at least get a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep.
So I get up around ten AM and, as I make my coffee in the kitchen…squish…
I keep a stash of pens nearby to throw at Spot when he gets up to his nonsense. It works, so far, and I don’t have to get up or even aim (as I don’t want to actually hit him, it’s the noise that scares him off). I prefer cold cat puke to warm. At least you know right away you’ve stepped in something nasty. Especially in socks.
Hahah! When I think of it, I DO put one of my slippers on the stand next to me for easy access chucking… LOL If I did a pen, they’d end up batting them around all night!!!
Also, somehow, cold cat puke is infinitely worse to me than warm… at least to step in. lol Cleaning up, cold is easier…and smells less….
Wow. I put too much thought into that.
The joy of cats. They make us learn things no one who doesn’t have cats will ever have a need to know…
Ugh, I had that Saturday when I got home from work. One of the kits shit next to the litterbox to remember me not to forget to scoop it.
Heheh! Yep… sounds like a cat. Or love it when they poop and leave…don’t bother to cover it up or anything.
I share your pain as a fellow insomnia sufferer; although I think mine is down to years of working shifts
I had a worse time when I didn’t work and had no structure (which obviously my kid imposes now, lol) but it mostly comes down to nerves and my bladder for me/