My Cats are Thugs

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My cats are thugs.

I awoke this morning to the two of them ricocheting off of my headboard, then my bookshelves, then around again.  A very effective strategy to get me up for their 6:00 a.m. feeding.  I guess they were thinking~ it’s a tag-team kind of day.  I will have to admit, it was a very impressive and innovative approach to a wake-up call.

I gave them a 10, then wondered, “What in the hell can I throw at them to get them to stop?!”

My teddy bear in hand, (yes I still sleep with a teddy bear) this seemed the most logical choice.  I slung Ted by the leg, just missing Carley.  It worked.  Momentarily. Those two can be relentless.  So I caved.  All the while worrying I was reinforcing this invidious behavior, yet seeing no way around it, if I wanted more sleep.  So, that was that.  A little scoop of canned chicken deposited into two little white bowls, and all peace was restored.

I melted back into the softness, sandwiched between two fleece blankets.  Aaaah, heaven.  Fading in and out of that delicious space between sleep and wake.  Do you know that place?

The window open.  A delicate breeze brushing up against my soft skin.  The intoxicating scent of fresh morning air, complete with birdsong.  This is when, and where, I know that heaven exists.

My thoughts were on my dream lover, as I rested, nestled into my little cocoon.  My dreams had put me in the bed of a much younger man.  I was an older woman in a teenager’s bed wondering what we would tell his mother.  He hadn’t confessed his age when we met on the stadium bleachers, and I hadn’t thought to ask. Now my son was waiting for me, still at the stadium I presumed. We were to catch a plane.  I had disappeared, leaving him to fend for himself, while I followed my passion, my young adorable dark-haired crush.

My son was a teenager himself.  I was worried when I realized he would not know where I was, where I had gone.  He sent me a text, a picture of his childhood toys that he had gathered together and was planning on selling, or giving away.  I took note of each item and felt a bit of sadness.  My friend turned up in my dream and looked at the items in the picture, assessing each one.  I needed to coordinate travel arrangements for myself and my son, considering how I could get out of the room unnoticed, and how he and I would connect.  My new young friend was not any help.

So that was that.  The dream ended there.  I gently eased into a more alert state and began thinking about my day – I would write in front of my open window,  meditate, eat breakfast and drink hot tea, like I used to in the mornings.  If time allowed I would attend my local sangha to sit on my cushion with others and feed the part of me that needs community.  It would be a nice balance to the morning’s blissful solitude.

Namaste.

I love you Dear Reader.

About Suzanne

I write poetry, flash fiction, quotes and personal essays. Words flow forth like a river that cannot be dammed. Writing is my soul.
This entry was posted in Dreaming, Dreams, Humor, Humour, Meditation, Morning, Romance, Sleep, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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