The rain must have started in the wee hours of the morning. I can’t say for sure because I was asleep. It must have been magnificent. The entire heavens above our house letting loose in great balls of moisture to pound the rooftop and release the icy skins of snow that still lingered. It must have been magnificent because the small-to-medium-sized dog called Zelda who is not very brave broke through three barriers to wake me up.

It was not quite 4am. Despite ears plugged with foam, I heard the ruckus downstairs and in my half-awake state knew what was coming. First the door to the crate was pried loose. Next, the wooden gate at the end of the stairs, followed by a mad stampede of feet rushing to the second floor to shove open the bedroom door and catapult the said dog onto the bed.

Just in case I had somehow slept through her breakout, the not-very-brave-dog then promptly proceeded to nudge her nose in my face a dozen times before she settled down beside me. Safe at last. Within fifteen seconds she was snoring. Full-tilt. Out like a light. Naturally, I was not.

I checked the earplugs, only to find they were still snugly in place. There was no escaping the snoring of the dog unless I got up. So, I decided to relieve my bladder, checking the clock on the way to the bathroom to ensure I was not remiss about the time. Sure enough, it was just past 4am.

My bladder now empty, I reclaimed the tiny corner of the bed that remained, giving the snoring dog the slightest of nudges 😉 as I did so. Within seconds the snoring had resumed to its most robust tempo. My mind wandered over the day and the dreams I had already dreamt before my rude awaking, which didn’t help me drift into sleep, as keeping the mind busy never does. It sailed over the snoring dog to contemplate the husband on the other side, still as a monk in meditation, presumably asleep. Lucky bloke.

That’s about the time the cat-named-Millie decided to join the slumber party. Never one to miss an event, Millie also made a (more graceful) leap onto the bed and somehow landed, like the dog, nearest me. After checking out the dog, she began trotting around my side of the bed to find the most optimal place to spend the remainder of her night. Apparently the crook in my bent legs was not good enough, and she was soon on my pillow.

“Oh good,” I thought, “At least she’s settling in.”

Mille, like many felines do, has an uncanny ability to read minds and this evening was no exception. As soon as my thought had been released, she captured it like she would a mouse. I can only be grateful my eyes were closed.

The paw stretched past my hairline to tap my face, claws extended. Then retracted.

I took a breath and willed myself to focus on sleep.

There it was again, the paw, ever-so-slightly tapping the tender skin of my check bones.

Sighing, I reached my own arm out of the covers to stroke the feline’s head.

It wasn’t enough. Our little charade continued about five more times until Mille won the battle. Up went the covers and in went Millie.