Illustration by Jenny Lamont
In which DD changes her sleeping arrangement for the safety of little Sammy…
I have recently taken to sleeping downstairs in order to keep Sammy below decks and safe from tumbling down the stairs as she did recently (I suspect she couldn’t see over the large pair of socks in her little Morkie mouth).
And so it was that we all headed off to our respective bedrooms to snuggle in while the cold Cape Town winter raged outside. Sammy (with her sock) was happily upside down in front of the fireplace, four paws in the air like a fluffy Christmas beetle. I thought she looked too comfortable (and cute) to bother, so I left her there, and Sheba Shanks, Arty Cat and I headed for bed.
Sheba immediately took up position on HALF of the single bed. I’m sure that my 53-year-old body is not made to contort into the positions I found myself in, and I seriously worry about my blood circulation, or should I say LACK thereof. Arty curled up like a little kitty donut in Sammy’s basket beside the bed.
Comfortable in the assumption that Sammy and her sock would come to bed when the fire died down, we all dozed off.
At three AM, I awoke with a start: something was missing. I gazed blearily around me to discover there was no Sammy. Hm… I lay there worrying about if she was freezing her little Morkie butt on the couch in front of the open cats’ window.
I strongly considered checking on her, but, truth be told, I was being held hostage in my own bed. There was literally no way I would have been able to slither out from under the loudly snoring galoomfy Sheba. I nodded off, but three hours later I opened my eyes again to see… STILL no Sammy!
Whilst trying to control my MMP (Mad Mommy Panic) while thinking all the most horrible things (as one does), The Dad’s alarm went off upstairs.
Yawning in a relaxed fashion, down trotted Mr Sleepyhead with Sammy-Bear at his heels like his trusty steed! Hah! Where is her loyalty?
It turns out that while I was grinding my teeth to stubs, having visions of Sammy doom gallop through my head, the pooch in question had been blissfully tucked up behind The Dad all night.
I’m guessing the little madam is fed up with having to share a single bed with Sheba, me, and at least one of the two naughty cats.
To be honest, I too had spent the night pondering if I should flee upstairs, where The Dad would, no doubt, have been spread out on the comfy king-size bed, accompanied by no more than one small cat. But that was a move that would have been plagued with complications.
Firstly, being the worry-wart I am, I thought it best to stay downstairs for Sammy’s sake (hmmppffff – more fool, me). Secondly, it really was too cold to move – plus, I was pinned into a pretzel position and had lost feeling in the lower half of my body as a result. And last, but definitely not least, I didn’t want to hurt Sheba’s feelings… she loves sleeping with The Momma and looked so comfortable (are you noticing a theme here?).
Aiyaiyai! Maybe I just have to push for a double bed in the downstairs bedroom, although that would mean having to give up one of the three pet-bed options in the room (giggle, I have pet bed options in EVERY room – see Wherever I lay my bed (link to http://www.happytailsmagazine.co.za/dds-blog/wherever-i-lay-my-bed/)! But then, at least there’d be room for two dogs (plus socks), two cats and, heck, even The Budgie Birds would be welcome (if they showed the slightest bit of interest)… and, just maybe, even The Dad!
So, who knows where we’ll all be laying our weary heads tonight, but I’m not going to lie: if she chooses The Dad, then I’m going with her!