3:33, I kick the cat

I awoke at 3:33 on the clock. Something was biting my ankle, nip, nip. I reached down and brought Little Mister Mischief up to cuddle. He sniffed my face and put his little paw on my arm. Aw, isn't he cute? Soon he walked back down the bed and I was almost asleep again when I felt another nip on my ankle, a big one. Yow! I kicked the cat. Yes, I flung him off my leg. That really hurt!

Lately, we had cooler weather and I made up a warm bed. Pure cotton sheet on the bottom with a very light and velvety fleece blanket used as a top sheet and a brand new, light, down-alternative quilt. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Then a few warm days had me sleeping with my legs out again; not so lovely to find them being bitten by the kitten.

So I got up and followed Little Mr. He was standing in the kitchen waiting for me. When he had my attention he walked over to his bowl and stood up on his hind feet. So I put one small scoop of kitten chow in his bowl. He looked down, and I could feel him thinking, "That's it? Where is the good stuff?" He gave me the that blue eyed Siamese stare and started to walk away. Uh, uh, kitty; you woke me up, chew on this. I put him back by the bowl, he shrugged his shoulders and dug right in with gusto.

This is the time for analogy. I know what it reminds me of in my life. I wonder what it means to you. (Hungry cat, feed the damn thing, I know, I know.)