Meow Meow Meow…

So, I came into my writing desk last night at around eleven and Dewey was sprawled on a pillow by my feet, and we had the following conversation.

“Meow,” I said, scratching his great carpet-like floor.
“Hello, human,” he said. “Are you enjoying your evening? I am enjoying my evening. Ah, that is nice. Scratch my belly some more–mmm… ahhhh…. why thank you. Yes, yes I do enjoy my food, why do you ask? Oh!” He flips over to his front and stretches. “Speaking of which, do you see my bowl? Yes, yes, follow me. Yes. See my bowl? See? Isn’t it beautiful? But, alas, empty– ah. You do understand me, human. Thank you. Nom nom nom…”
And after that was over with, I went back to work, and back to bed around two. Now, when I go to bed, I play a few minutes of phone game to disengage my brain from words. (I know that sounds weird, but I will loop a story I’m reading or a story I’m writing all night as I try to sleep if I don’t sever the connection. Boring math based games–every time.) So there I was, playing Merge Dragons, when I hear a familiar jingle-jingle-purr… and here comes Nebula. 
“Hello, buddy,” I say, trying to pet him with one hand.
“Purr-purr-purr–that thing! That thing in your hand! I don’t like that thing! Pet me! Both hands! What is it? What is that thing? Let me chew that thing! Purr-purr-purr–and pets! Pet me! Both hands! What is that thing? I don’t like it? Wait I like it! I like it to chew! To rub my whiskers! Now put it down and pet me! I love you! I love you! I’m rubbing your face because I love you! I love you more! And more! Now love me back! Oh yes! I love you so much! I love you so much I must curl up between the two lumps under the blankets and purr. OH, look, they wiggle. Hello wiggling lump. Do I know you? Never mind. I shall knead the blanket  write on that wiggling lump! Oh, hello! I love you wiggling lump! Good night!”
“Night Nebula,” I mumble.
“Night strange cat that walked on my face and my ass and poked me in the rump,” says Geoffie. She is very confused.
And I roll over, eventually, and my hand finds something warm and furry. I scratch it and it purrs and I think, “Ah, this is my night to be loved by–“
Steve scratches me. “Bitch, keep petting.”
I do as she asked. “Sorry, Steve.”
“I got my fat ass up here and you’re going to just sleep? I don’t care if it’s five a.m.–pet me, dammit, pet me!”
“Wish, command, you know…” I mumble. 
Eventually I fall asleep, hand still buried in her ruff, and I guess she let me live.
The next morning, Mate kisses me goodbye. “Did you get a good night’s sleep?” he asks. “Did you get lots of work done?”
It’s ungodly early. “There were cats,” I tell him, squinting.
“Cats? Well, they’re all in the front room now. You can sleep.”
And at that moment, as the kids are getting ready to go, the dogs wake up and start barking because they hear the mailman. 
“Sure,” I tell him. “Get right on that.”
And that, people, is why I nap.

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