It's a trek really when the room is chill with morning coolness if no one has bothered to turn on the heater.
You've to decide and tell yourself that it's important to get up, that you can't be left alone to live the rest of your life wrapped in the febrile air of your blanket.
Then you wonder what would be so wrong in waking up at 9:00 nay 10:30am? 'A world of wrong', will say a voice your subconscious has tried to throttle each morning.
A world of wrong indeed. For starters your day would start much later thus effectively leaving you with none too many hours to capture this day to its fullest. So none of that carpe diem riffraff if you're to wake up late. Secondly you miss out on working out and cleaning house and cycle of your meals which is pretty much what happened this weekend. We don't want a lapse, do we?
So, wake up and leave the bed.. again that voice telling me. Sounding a bit like Uma Thurman's kill bill conversation, where she tells her paralyzed toe to wake up moments after she's killed 'buck' who liked to 'fuck' comatose patients.
Finally putting on layers of layers of clothing to cover my almost undressed frame that slept loglike on the bed I manage to slither out, but wait.
Am I forgetting something? Didn't I mention how I woke up to something warm and seriously hot near my arm.
Cajoling the recesses of my fat fat duvet I find Monsieur Chat sleeping equally loglike if not more on my side.
The things about cats is that they've tremendous amounts of body heat, just like any animal who's not accustomed to being swaddled in blankets at night, and when they rest with all their furs and what not, they produce an increased amount of heat to warm themselves.
And this particular cat is indeed furry, and he was oh so warm as he slept thus letting that heat permeate through coverings that enveloped me.
But how on earth did he come here? So early in the morning no less?
I don't know, except he slept quietly and only woke up because I did.
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