A knowing chuckle came from inside after reading another poster who confessed he slept with his dogs and people who don’t “live a sad, pathetic, hollow existence” of alone-ness in the marriage bed. I’m afraid if I slept with my dogs, there would be little room for me, let alone my wonderfully tolerant spouse. So no, my dogs do not sleep in my bed, when I am there. When it is not human occupied, then it’s up for grabs.
I do however, enjoy sleeping with my cats, orange-tabby brothers, Ben and Jerry. The evening routine involves calling them inside, usually accomplished by a shake of the kitty bowl delivering their “nighttime crunchies.” After the meal, they thoroughly clean themselves, because nothing gets a cat dirtier than eating dry kibble from a bowl. But since I am their bed buddy, I appreciate that effort before jumping on to the duvet.
When I go to bed much later, there I will find them, curled up on my bed with accusing glares as if to say “just where have you been all night young lady?” (I appreciate that they still think I’m a young party girl.) I crawl into bed and with amusement, watching how well they have learned to surf the bed covers “allowing” me to settle in.
It’s nice my two boys are no longer young kittens because one had to be careful making too much movement with the covers, for fear of eliciting a sudden game of toe killing. It took a bit of training as well, to encourage them to settle on the foot of the bed. There was many a night when a cat would decide the best place to sit was between the book I was reading and my face. Cat rears are cute, but they do not carry intriguing plots.
The cats rarely last a whole night, being nocturnal. Luckily so is my husband, (works nights) so another chance at crunchies at 4.a.m. prompts them to leap out of bed for another round of schmoozing with the human.
