No, it isn’t Folgers in your cup. It’s a warm, furry buddy who, hearing you start to stir, leaves his post at your feet to crawl up your body and plop, purring, on your chest.
It just doesn’t get better than that, people.
That’s the new routine Oliver (one of my two cats) and I seem to be falling into. It might be my imagination, but ever since I turned up pregnant, I swear this little cuddle bug has been even more attentive than usual.
He follows me upstairs each night, waiting patiently just inside the door until I’m ready to crawl into bed. Then he hops up next to me, and as soon as I arrange myself on the pillows, settles in for a thorough petting session.
Usually, he stays until I fall asleep, his purr more soothing than any lullaby I can think of. He spends most of the night using my feet as a pillow—although how he hasn’t gotten brain damage from the amount of kicking his little head must receive, I don’t know.
Sometimes he’s joined by my dog Kermit, who, when he’s feeling sweet, curls up behind my knees. More often than not, though, he does an excellent Stretch Armstrong impersonation—leaving me with a narrow sliver of bed.
When Kiwi, the third member of the furry trio joins us, it can get quite crowded indeed—and that’s before my husband (a night owl if there ever was one) arrives.
But you know what? Those are the nights I sleep the best. And now that fall’s coming, there’ll be a lot more of those. I’m trying to cherish them while I can, knowing that once this baby comes, these scenes will be few and far between for a while.
I can only hope that Leroy (that’s what we’re calling the kid for now) loves them as much as we do, and that they love him (or her) in return. After all, there’s always room for one more in the family pile!