With temps in the mid-20’s for two nights in a row, I haven’t slept well. Whiskey the Cat insists on sleeping indoors on cold nights.
He does not have the decency to sleep on the floor or even, Heaven forbid, the sofa. Nosireebob, he wants to sleep in my bed, preferably velcroed to my various body parts. You would think that with all my tossing, turning and yanking of covers that he wouldn’t be sleeping very well but other than vaguely focusing half an eyeball on me, he snores right on.
Sunday, I threw his furry behind out at 6:30 a.m. but due to lack of sleep, never quite made it out of slug mode.
Monday, I must report, I didn’t have the ambition of a turnip.