Stirrings

 It has not been a good summer for sleep. As I have mentioned here recently, I have had a head full of trouble and I suppose I only have myself to blame for the poor sleep hygiene. 

Unless I want to blame the cat. 

The feline with whom I live has a rather demanding schedule that includes a great many naps throughout the day. I tend not to notice these when I am working because I am working. Not checking in on his lengthy lolls about on the couch. Our bed. In the spot of sun in the back room. Back to the couch again. Onto the table that looks out on the front yard. He's getting plenty of rest. I know this because I am witness to it while I make my way through this "vacation." 

When he's awake and moderately alert, he will mince about the house, vocalizing his moderate displeasure with the lack of attention he is receiving. My wife and I alternate replies to his plaintive cries. She prefers to speak to him in her native tongue. I choose to greet him in his own vernacular. This does not have the effect of confusing or calming him. He seems to believe that we are carrying on a conversation. 

Which brings us to those late nights and early mornings, when he feels completely comfortable entering our room and shouting at the top of his lungs. It would seem that he is expressing his deep and abiding concern that we have forgotten about him. Not that we should be attending to his needs and feed at four in the morning. During the school year I can shut out his lamentations until six, when my day begins and there is some inkling that we are sharing breakfast. Have a good day at work, he murmurs before loping off to the bedroom to curl up on  my side of the bed. The space I have left empty for him to begin a had day's nap. 

But now it's summer, and I have this absurd notion that I should be able to catch up on the rest that I have missed. Couple this nocturnal predilection with my own inability to nap myself and we end up with loose ends of a sleep cycle. My recent bouts with insomnia have not helped me manage any better, and the cat seems pleasantly amused by my late-night ramblings. Whatcha doin'? Are we going to eat now? Sounds great! He has a running commentary for a time that I wish was only a dream. 

This too, we are told, shall pass. Soon enough the daily rituals will return to normal. Whatever that is. I suppose it has something to do with a cat sitting on my chest and staring at me, waiting none too patiently for me to use my opposable thumbs to open that new can of cat food.