If this is your first visit, be sure to check out the FAQ by clicking the link above. You may have to register before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages, select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below. |
|
|
|
Thread Tools | Display Modes |
#1
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
Shmogg's sleeping location on my bed had been found through years of trial
and error, and now its a ritual every night. After yelling for food for about an hour, he gets fed at 10:30pm every night (regardless of how much begging, cajoling, wining, whimpering, doing the cute, doing the pathetic and doing the starving has occurred). Whilst he's chowing down, I brush my teeth and get ready for bed. By the time I'm just settling down, he's finished his dinner and is ready to hop up on the bed to purr me to sleep (I cannot go to sleep without purr now). Without fail, he settles on the side of the bed near the door, right up and my head level. This sleeping position has many advantges. First and foremost, its the safest. He is unlikely to be hit during the night by one of my flailing limbs when I thrash about in my sleep (although not totally immune, which is when I get a solid limb-repellant bite for my trouble). Secondly, it allows him to get on and off he bed easily so as to go to the litter tray or top up on kibble during the night, as the spot right next to my night stand which he used as a step. Despite the fact I place my alarm clock there every night, by morning its on the floor. I am so used to him knocking it off, I no longer awake to the sound of it hitting the floor. Access to scritches is of course a natural advantage, and the fact the stoopid hoomin has to contort her arms into weird and blood-draining positions to supply said scritches is an added advantage. But perhaps, best of all, the location is such that the stoopid hoomin's sinuses are forever filled with a plentiful and never ending supply of cat dander. Shmogg obviously interprets the resulting chain-saw like snores as the hoomin version of a contented purr. If only Joel did too. He's been sleeping there for many years now, and we have both gotten used to it. Nothing better after having a totally aweful day than to fall into bed and have your oldest friend soothe you to sleep. It was one of those aweful days. They're not that common, thankfully, but every so often, events that I could easily handle if they'd happened in isolation gang up on me to make my day miserable. We'd found out that despite my group a work buting our guts to score 150% on our bonus rating, we were not going to get paid a bonus this year. Joel and Cary were in equally foul moods and torturing each other (they're twins born 30 years apart, I swear). All the bills had arrived on the same day, and just to top it all off, the monthly joys of being female had struck, leaving me with unsually bad cramps and a craving for chocolate, which of course, we were out of. I was *very* grateful to fall into bed, and my oldest and fuzzies friend faithly appeared on the bed a moment later. Relieved that even though it had been a crabby day, some things never changed, I reached up over my head to give my beastie a good scritching, something that would rev up the purr machine enough for me to fall asleep to is sonorific sound. Perhaps Shmogg could detect the water bottle I had clutched against my cramping belly, or maybe he just knew I was in pain, but instead of settling in his usual spot by my head, he waited till the scritchings were finished, and settled himself insead in the nook made between my tummy and my curled up legs. And purr, boy did he ever. If only I could bottle those purrs and take them at work for cramps, because hey worked better than Ponstan or Naprogesic has ever done. Grateful to my dear dear Shmogg for always being there for me no matter what, I almost instanenously forgot my troubles, and drifted off into a pleasant and stress free sleep. As the result of being a mother, some things I used to take for granted are no longer. Like my bladder. I miss being ble to sleep through the night without needing the bathroom before the morning. It is a sad fact of life shared with many other mothers, and something i've just had to get used to ('just do your excercises' has resulted in a muscle that could probably bend steel but still can't hold pee well). Me getting up for a potty break in the middle of the night is something Shmogg has gotten used to. He doesn't even stir most nights, and even if he does, its only to open one eye just to make sure everythig is all right with the world. Which wouldn't be a problem if he as sleeping where he sually sleeps, by my head, but tonight he as sleeping on top of the doona, in the nook between my tummy and my bended legs. He had, in effect, trapped me. I tried to move, but was being held down by a 6 kilo cat. Well, he's 6 kilos when he's *awake*, he adds several tonnes whilst he's asleep. So I am trapped under my doona with a sleeping cat at my stoamch and a a load of pee that is about to liberate itself from the opression of the bladder, whether I'm over the toilet or not. Hmmm. Nothing for it, I have to wake Shmogg up. I jiggle abit, bumping against him. Nothing. I call out "Puss, Puss" in a way that implies more food is in the offing. Not even an ear swivel. I poke him. Dead as a doornail. Things in the nether region are getting *desperate*. I try to reach down and physically relocate him, but the angle is such that I have no leverage.He's going no where, and apparntly, nor am I. Well, is either get out of bed or sleep in a man - or should that be woman - made puddle, so I wiggle and squirm and slide and jiggle and eventually manage to extract myself from the cunning cat & doona trap much like a butterfly eventually squeezes itself out of the cocoon. Thankfully, I make I to the bathroom, before the pee steals a coup. And now I have to get back *into* bed. Butterflies don't tend to go back *into* cocoons. I have a problem, Houston. I consider my options. Wiggle and shuffle back like a demented maggot attemtping to reclaim its childhood into the the dooona trap or move the cat. The sleeping cat. The slightly snuffly snoring kitty. The contented beastie that has turned himself into an upside downy head pinwheel. The wonderful, adorable, compassionate and loyal Shmoggleberry that had done with simple purrs that all of modern pharmacology has not - my cramps had gone. Looking at my dear sweet Shmogg, sleeping blissfully in the folds of my doona, I knew I had no choice. With much effort and contortions Houdini would have been proud of, I finally get back into more or less the same position I was before. I sigh softly, chiding myself with "catslave" at the things I put myself through for the sake of his comfort and try to get back to sleep. But at the sound of the sigh, which I *swear* was so soft that it was relly more of a mental sigh than an audible one, Shmogg woke up. Shmogg stretched in the incredibly elastic way cats do when they've have a good long satisfying sleep, and then trotted up to his usual spot besides my head. Now, I realise that - since the hot water bottle had long since gone cold and my cramps had disspiated - that perhaps he no longer felt it necessary to stay there, and decided that he'd prefer the usual spot, but why oh why coudln'the have woken up five minues before? Why did I have to put myself through amazing and brutal contortions *with a full bladder* because he woudn't wake up to poking, prodding, jiggling and yelling, ut could wake up not to all the movement in he bed but a barely audible sigh? Why? Despite Shmogg having not tranversed the night stand, the angle of the light coming from my alarm clock on the floor was just enough for me to see just a hint of a smirk as he settled himself up by my head. Why? Because, despite his age, he's *still* the b*st*rd c*t, thats why. And I still scritched his chin till the blood drained out of my twisted arm, just like the good catslave I am. Yowie |
#2
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
Yowie wrote:
Why? Because, despite his age, he's *still* the b*st*rd c*t, thats why. And I still scritched his chin till the blood drained out of my twisted arm, just like the good catslave I am. Yowie Great story, Vicki. So good (?) to hear Schmogg's up to his usual stunts. -- Sam, closely supervised by Mistletoe |
#3
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
"Yowie" wrote in message
... Shmogg's sleeping location on my bed had been found through years of trial and error, and now its a ritual every night. snip But at the sound of the sigh, which I *swear* was so soft that it was relly more of a mental sigh than an audible one, Shmogg woke up. Shmogg stretched in the incredibly elastic way cats do when they've have a good long satisfying sleep, and then trotted up to his usual spot besides my head. Now, I realise that - since the hot water bottle had long since gone cold and my cramps had disspiated - that perhaps he no longer felt it necessary to stay there, and decided that he'd prefer the usual spot, but why oh why coudln'the have woken up five minues before? Why did I have to put myself through amazing and brutal contortions *with a full bladder* because he woudn't wake up to poking, prodding, jiggling and yelling, ut could wake up not to all the movement in he bed but a barely audible sigh? Why? Despite Shmogg having not tranversed the night stand, the angle of the light coming from my alarm clock on the floor was just enough for me to see just a hint of a smirk as he settled himself up by my head. Why? Because, despite his age, he's *still* the b*st*rd c*t, thats why. And I still scritched his chin till the blood drained out of my twisted arm, just like the good catslave I am. Yowie LOL! I do sympathize, Yowie. Nanki-Poo and Lindy don't always have set sleeping places, but I often wake up with Lindy plastered to the back of my legs, and Nanki-Poo arrayed along my front. If it were just Lindy, I could at least get out of bed without disturbing her, although getting back in is sometimes a different story. However, I really have to contort myself to get up without disturbing Nanki-Poo. About the time my feet hit the floor, he usually jumps down from the bed. Every time. And, of course, I do the contortion thing every time. Joy |
#4
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
Yowie wrote:
snip Why? Because, despite his age, he's *still* the b*st*rd c*t, thats why. And I still scritched his chin till the blood drained out of my twisted arm, just like the good catslave I am. Lovely to get a good Shmoggleberry story to start the day! Thanks, Yowie. Oh, how I miss having a purring cat on the pillow next to mine at night. Frank would always come and settle down minutes after I had gone to bed. -- Marina, Miranda and Caliban. In loving memory of Frank and Nikki. Stories and pics at http://koti.welho.com/mkurten/ Pics at http://uk.pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/frankiennikki/ and http://community.webshots.com/user/frankiennikki |
#5
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
Thanks Yowie,
This really made my morning! After all they put us through, we are still cat slaves. I spent a large part of the night trying to ignore Phoenix scratching at various doors in our bedroom, digging up the carpet or sleeping between my legs pinning me down. Yet when I get up, all bleary eyed, the first thing I do is give him and Memphis a cuddle. Just can't help it! sandra |
#6
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
Yowie wrote:
snip Why? Because, despite his age, he's *still* the b*st*rd c*t, thats why. And I still scritched his chin till the blood drained out of my twisted arm, just like the good catslave I am. Yowie Thanks for the laugh, Vicky, I needed it, I know I've been rather grumpy recently. -- Adrian (Owned by Snoopy and Bagheera) Cats leave pawprints on your heart. http://community.webshots.com/user/clowderuk |
#7
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
LOL, Yowie, a most delightful story -- loved every word of it! Thank you
soooo much for sharing! Christine "Yowie" wrote in message ... Shmogg's sleeping location on my bed had been found through years of trial and error, and now its a ritual every night. After yelling for food for about an hour, he gets fed at 10:30pm every night (regardless of how much begging, cajoling, wining, whimpering, doing the cute, doing the pathetic and doing the starving has occurred). Whilst he's chowing down, I brush my teeth and get ready for bed. By the time I'm just settling down, he's finished his dinner and is ready to hop up on the bed to purr me to sleep (I cannot go to sleep without purr now). Without fail, he settles on the side of the bed near the door, right up and my head level. This sleeping position has many advantges. First and foremost, its the safest. He is unlikely to be hit during the night by one of my flailing limbs when I thrash about in my sleep (although not totally immune, which is when I get a solid limb-repellant bite for my trouble). Secondly, it allows him to get on and off he bed easily so as to go to the litter tray or top up on kibble during the night, as the spot right next to my night stand which he used as a step. Despite the fact I place my alarm clock there every night, by morning its on the floor. I am so used to him knocking it off, I no longer awake to the sound of it hitting the floor. Access to scritches is of course a natural advantage, and the fact the stoopid hoomin has to contort her arms into weird and blood-draining positions to supply said scritches is an added advantage. But perhaps, best of all, the location is such that the stoopid hoomin's sinuses are forever filled with a plentiful and never ending supply of cat dander. Shmogg obviously interprets the resulting chain-saw like snores as the hoomin version of a contented purr. If only Joel did too. He's been sleeping there for many years now, and we have both gotten used to it. Nothing better after having a totally aweful day than to fall into bed and have your oldest friend soothe you to sleep. It was one of those aweful days. They're not that common, thankfully, but every so often, events that I could easily handle if they'd happened in isolation gang up on me to make my day miserable. We'd found out that despite my group a work buting our guts to score 150% on our bonus rating, we were not going to get paid a bonus this year. Joel and Cary were in equally foul moods and torturing each other (they're twins born 30 years apart, I swear). All the bills had arrived on the same day, and just to top it all off, the monthly joys of being female had struck, leaving me with unsually bad cramps and a craving for chocolate, which of course, we were out of. I was *very* grateful to fall into bed, and my oldest and fuzzies friend faithly appeared on the bed a moment later. Relieved that even though it had been a crabby day, some things never changed, I reached up over my head to give my beastie a good scritching, something that would rev up the purr machine enough for me to fall asleep to is sonorific sound. Perhaps Shmogg could detect the water bottle I had clutched against my cramping belly, or maybe he just knew I was in pain, but instead of settling in his usual spot by my head, he waited till the scritchings were finished, and settled himself insead in the nook made between my tummy and my curled up legs. And purr, boy did he ever. If only I could bottle those purrs and take them at work for cramps, because hey worked better than Ponstan or Naprogesic has ever done. Grateful to my dear dear Shmogg for always being there for me no matter what, I almost instanenously forgot my troubles, and drifted off into a pleasant and stress free sleep. As the result of being a mother, some things I used to take for granted are no longer. Like my bladder. I miss being ble to sleep through the night without needing the bathroom before the morning. It is a sad fact of life shared with many other mothers, and something i've just had to get used to ('just do your excercises' has resulted in a muscle that could probably bend steel but still can't hold pee well). Me getting up for a potty break in the middle of the night is something Shmogg has gotten used to. He doesn't even stir most nights, and even if he does, its only to open one eye just to make sure everythig is all right with the world. Which wouldn't be a problem if he as sleeping where he sually sleeps, by my head, but tonight he as sleeping on top of the doona, in the nook between my tummy and my bended legs. He had, in effect, trapped me. I tried to move, but was being held down by a 6 kilo cat. Well, he's 6 kilos when he's *awake*, he adds several tonnes whilst he's asleep. So I am trapped under my doona with a sleeping cat at my stoamch and a a load of pee that is about to liberate itself from the opression of the bladder, whether I'm over the toilet or not. Hmmm. Nothing for it, I have to wake Shmogg up. I jiggle abit, bumping against him. Nothing. I call out "Puss, Puss" in a way that implies more food is in the offing. Not even an ear swivel. I poke him. Dead as a doornail. Things in the nether region are getting *desperate*. I try to reach down and physically relocate him, but the angle is such that I have no leverage.He's going no where, and apparntly, nor am I. Well, is either get out of bed or sleep in a man - or should that be woman - made puddle, so I wiggle and squirm and slide and jiggle and eventually manage to extract myself from the cunning cat & doona trap much like a butterfly eventually squeezes itself out of the cocoon. Thankfully, I make I to the bathroom, before the pee steals a coup. And now I have to get back *into* bed. Butterflies don't tend to go back *into* cocoons. I have a problem, Houston. I consider my options. Wiggle and shuffle back like a demented maggot attemtping to reclaim its childhood into the the dooona trap or move the cat. The sleeping cat. The slightly snuffly snoring kitty. The contented beastie that has turned himself into an upside downy head pinwheel. The wonderful, adorable, compassionate and loyal Shmoggleberry that had done with simple purrs that all of modern pharmacology has not - my cramps had gone. Looking at my dear sweet Shmogg, sleeping blissfully in the folds of my doona, I knew I had no choice. With much effort and contortions Houdini would have been proud of, I finally get back into more or less the same position I was before. I sigh softly, chiding myself with "catslave" at the things I put myself through for the sake of his comfort and try to get back to sleep. But at the sound of the sigh, which I *swear* was so soft that it was relly more of a mental sigh than an audible one, Shmogg woke up. Shmogg stretched in the incredibly elastic way cats do when they've have a good long satisfying sleep, and then trotted up to his usual spot besides my head. Now, I realise that - since the hot water bottle had long since gone cold and my cramps had disspiated - that perhaps he no longer felt it necessary to stay there, and decided that he'd prefer the usual spot, but why oh why coudln'the have woken up five minues before? Why did I have to put myself through amazing and brutal contortions *with a full bladder* because he woudn't wake up to poking, prodding, jiggling and yelling, ut could wake up not to all the movement in he bed but a barely audible sigh? Why? Despite Shmogg having not tranversed the night stand, the angle of the light coming from my alarm clock on the floor was just enough for me to see just a hint of a smirk as he settled himself up by my head. Why? Because, despite his age, he's *still* the b*st*rd c*t, thats why. And I still scritched his chin till the blood drained out of my twisted arm, just like the good catslave I am. Yowie |
#8
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
Yowie wrote:
Shmogg's sleeping location on my bed had been found through years of trial and error, and now its a ritual every night. After yelling for food for about an hour, he gets fed at 10:30pm every night (regardless of how much begging, cajoling, wining, whimpering, doing the cute, doing the pathetic and doing the starving has occurred). Whilst he's chowing down, I brush my teeth and get ready for bed. By the time I'm just settling down, he's finished his dinner and is ready to hop up on the bed to purr me to sleep (I cannot go to sleep without purr now). Without fail, he settles on the side of the bed near the door, right up and my head level. snip Despite Shmogg having not tranversed the night stand, the angle of the light coming from my alarm clock on the floor was just enough for me to see just a hint of a smirk as he settled himself up by my head. Why? Because, despite his age, he's *still* the b*st*rd c*t, thats why. And I still scritched his chin till the blood drained out of my twisted arm, just like the good catslave I am. Yowie Great story, as always, Vicky. Thanks. Best wishes, Polonca and Soncek |
#9
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
"Yowie" wrote Shmogg's sleeping location on my bed had been found through years of trial and error, and now its a ritual every night. snip hilarious tale The nightly ritual here is an ever-changing one but always involves at least 3-4 cats snuggling into various parts of my body. Beatrice always endeavors to position herself in a spot where she can reach one of my ears (to suck on it). Tommy usually settles in somewhere near my head, Eli goes near my stomach or legs and Billy goes either to my feet or my back. Baby Eyes likes to get under the covers, so does Abelard. Lily will stay near my head or next to her brother, whichever is easiest. So getting up for a pee in the night is often a trial, but most often at least two or three cats accompany me to the bathroom and back. |
#10
|
|||
|
|||
Night Moves [BW?]
"Yowie" wrote in message ... Shmogg's sleeping location on my bed had been found through years of trial and error, and now its a ritual every night. After yelling for food for about an hour, he gets fed at 10:30pm every night (regardless of how much begging, cajoling, wining, whimpering, doing the cute, doing the pathetic and doing the starving has occurred). Whilst he's chowing down, I brush my teeth and get ready for bed. By the time I'm just settling down, he's finished his dinner and is ready to hop up on the bed to purr me to sleep (I cannot go to sleep without purr now). Without fail, he settles on the side of the bed near the door, right up and my head level. Beverage warning indeed. Smoggleberry still has it. My owners tip their tails to the grand master. Pam S. giggling |
|
Thread Tools | |
Display Modes | |
|
|
Similar Threads | ||||
Thread | Thread Starter | Forum | Replies | Last Post |
it can amazingly shout brave and converses our long, wide pens outside a night | Drunk Nerd | Cat anecdotes | 0 | September 11th 05 03:22 PM |
beth kills, then Charlene hourly moves a glad sauce inside Alejandro's night | Ella van der Meet | Cat anecdotes | 0 | September 11th 05 02:49 PM |
beth moves, then Endora annually cleans a kind pumpkin through Timothy's arena | [email protected] | Cat anecdotes | 0 | September 11th 05 12:01 PM |
Cold night | wafflyDIRTYcatLITTERhcsBOX | Cat anecdotes | 6 | September 25th 03 09:27 PM |
Vera & Lola Bath Night......... | Jo Firey | Cat anecdotes | 2 | August 12th 03 01:01 PM |