The short answer: Cats.
The long answer:
The first time Fanty peed on my bed, she was angry because I’d tried to give her a pill. But then there was a second incident, that seemed to be no more than her thinking it was a good idea. And you know what? Getting into bed late at night, after a bad day, and discovering the bed is wet makes me cry like a baby. So Fanty was banned from the bedroom.
This is complicated, because I didn’t particularly want to ban Mingo from the bedroom. He is a cuddly cat, I love sleeping with him, and he goes through phases where he Must! be in the Lap! But he also can’t stand a closed door. So he cries to come in, I let him in, close the door behind him, he cries to get out. Hours of my life were spent opening and closing that motherfucking door.
Now remember, he just does this crying at the door thing, all the damn time. So sometimes I don’t get up. Especially if I’m asleep. If I’m asleep, I yell at him. Which isn’t restful but hey.
So early one morning, he was in the bedroom, and he was trying to get me up, as usual, and crying, as usual, and I ignore him, as usual, and he has a little accident in the corner.
Mingo is not Fanty. He has the decency to be ashamed about his misbehavior. Nonetheless, tinkle in the corner and Deborah ain’t happy. Also, these creatures from hell, they habituate to a spot, so now I’m worried that he’ll pee in that corner even when it’s not an emergency. So now both cats are banned from the bedroom and the door is always shut.
Which was fine for a few weeks. Despite the interruptions, I really missed sleeping with Mingo; he snuggles right underneath my arm, headbutting/nuzzling until he finds a cozy spot. It’s lovely. Hey, I’m a single girl, I need someone to hug.
Anyway, a couple of nights ago, Mingo suddenly started begging to be let in again, so, soft of heart, I let him in. And it is, truly, lovely to sleep with a furry cat purring next to you. But this morning OH. MY. GODS. Headbutting me at 6:30 am, I cannot, truly, risk another piddle incident, so I get out of bed and throw him out the door. Back in bed, I suddenly hear, not crying to get in, not scratching to get in, but apparently a construction crew. Seriously. It sounded like there was a bear about to eat him on the other side of the door. “Help me Obi Wan Deborah, you’re my only hope!”
I did not succumb.
I miss my cats.
(I like your facelift.)
Cats are furry little people with strange quirks. I used to have one who had a styrafoam fetish…he’d chew it, but not really eat it. And an armpit fetish. He liked to bury his face in your armpit.
Anyway, I’m sorry you had to banish your snuggle buddies. It’s just not the same, really. Not having cats in the bedroom anymore.
In fact, I haven’t had cats in my bedroom for years…and I dreamed early this morning that my roommate’s jumped on my bed, right on my chest. Then I woke up and realized I must have dreamed it. So I went back to sleep and it happened again (I guess there was a glitch in the Matrix).
But I do miss them. I empathize with you.