Like all gay men, I’m really good with cats. I understand and, in fact, greatly admire their need to sit, stretch, eat tuna directly from the can, wash, throw up, and be left alone. (I remember college.) I also understand their need to sleep on or near your face. My cat Stella is no exception, and for 14 years she has happily arranged herself on my upturned palm as I lay on my side sleeping like an angel. If I should turn onto my other side, she simply tiptoes over my face and arranges herself anew on my other palm. We’re both fine with this. Which explains why she’s a bit put out with the arrival of my new TROMSÖ IKEA loft bed, which stretches to the sky on its 6-foot steel legs.
Now, I’ve always felt that I should be sleeping while suspended in mid-air, so in a way, this new bed is my birthright. Sadly, it’s not Stella’s. She is unable to make the giant leap up into the thinner, warmer atmosphere where my new mattress (and upturned palm) resides, and it is tearing her world apart. If I want her up there I have to place her up there, and once she’s up there she immediately moves to the edge to start planning her escape from planet TROMSÖ. This does not make for a good night’s sleep.
We’ve got to figure this out. My upturned palm is cold and lonely and turncoat Stella’s taken to sleeping in the other room with Jimmy (he sleeps there because I snore, and he can't be dealing with that).
And no, that is NOT a yoga balance ball under the bed. It’s my bowling ball, and its name is Sheila.
2 comments:
How's that cyst, anyways?
could you build a little set of stairs for stella?
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