D'awwww.
So, for those of you who don't know this, my sleeping arrangements are a bit...odd. See, I have some obsessive-compulsive tendencies that surface in some odd ways, and my bed is the subject of a few of them. I have this thing about the bed being made. It has to be made at all times. And by made I mean, sheets and stuff pulled up, comforter pulled up...presentable. As a result, I really hate to sleep, you know, between the sheets, as that means my bed is Not Tidy and must be fixed as soon as possible. And because I apparently do Russian folk dances in my sleep, my bed is always a tangle in the morning.
...Ergo, I sleep on top of the comforters, usually with just a single blanket in the summer, or a squirrel's nest of old comforters in the summer. I like to be able to either drape my blanket just so in the summer, or completely entomb myself in the winter.
Yes, I know, I'm a freak. So are you, or else we wouldn't be friends. WHADDYA GOT TO SAY TO THAT, HUH, PUNK?
Anyway.
Aysel, that sweet odd-eyed babyboycat of mine, came in here and pranced up onto the bed while I was working on the dead people chart for BIO-140. And he prowled around, looking for mischief as usual, and I made kissy noises at him as usual. He was being silly, so I pulled back the edge of the comforter and threw it over him. I expected him to squirm out from under it.
Nope. There's the cutest little catloaf under there, white fur poking out, and periodically he'll do one of those stretches that look like they feel SO good, and a pink nose will poke out with sleepy eyes and twitching whiskers, and then he'll disappear again, till the next time I rub his belly. Then he'll purr like nobody's business, and I will coo and be utterly, gently content.
...Ergo, I sleep on top of the comforters, usually with just a single blanket in the summer, or a squirrel's nest of old comforters in the summer. I like to be able to either drape my blanket just so in the summer, or completely entomb myself in the winter.
Yes, I know, I'm a freak. So are you, or else we wouldn't be friends. WHADDYA GOT TO SAY TO THAT, HUH, PUNK?
Anyway.
Aysel, that sweet odd-eyed babyboycat of mine, came in here and pranced up onto the bed while I was working on the dead people chart for BIO-140. And he prowled around, looking for mischief as usual, and I made kissy noises at him as usual. He was being silly, so I pulled back the edge of the comforter and threw it over him. I expected him to squirm out from under it.
Nope. There's the cutest little catloaf under there, white fur poking out, and periodically he'll do one of those stretches that look like they feel SO good, and a pink nose will poke out with sleepy eyes and twitching whiskers, and then he'll disappear again, till the next time I rub his belly. Then he'll purr like nobody's business, and I will coo and be utterly, gently content.