This morning, Nebula was eating my face.
You heard that right.
Every morning, about seven–which is an hour before I get up–the cat bounds in with wet paws. Could be dew from his morning excursion, or it could be water from the dog bowl–we’ll never know. He purrs, he sticks his head under my hand, and he drools.
On my face.
I am mostly asleep at this point–maybe ninety percent.
So he licks the drool off. And licks and licks and licks. And I can sense the hunger stirring within… so delicious. Good human. Much salt. Wonderful human. I loves it… I loves it… I want to–
“No,” I mumble, moving my head. “No bitting.”
So he starts licking again. Good human. So tasty. Wonderful human. Mmmm… I loves it… I want to… I want to…
“No.”
I want to… I want to… I want to…
“Knock it off.”
Please let me… please… oh, it tastes so good… so very good…
And today, my husband whispers, threatening as a troll. “Stop. Eating. People.”
No! You taste delicious!
And then he bit my nose.
