We have a cat who suddenly thinks it is funny to sneak back through the door that separates the dining room from the living room after we put them to bed for the night. We feed them each night and then close them away from us because they tend to want to sleep wherever their humans are sleeping. This particular cat, Spaz, has been pretty good about staying downstairs and leaving us alone while we sleep. However, last night I made an early morning (2:45) trip downstairs, cat in hand, because she had been kneading the comforter and ended up sleeping right on my chest next to my face.
As I hefted her down the stairs, wriggling and scratching, I thought to myself that I was never going to be able to fall back to sleep. I was right. At somewhere around 4:45 this morning, I finally dozed off again only to get back up at 6:30 to walk the dogs. My sleep schedule is a mess.
Celie, the dog we have affectionately started calling rocket dog, has started a new trick. When it is time to go out in the morning, she runs full throttle across the garage, jumps over Lily, who is standing there whoo-whooing with her blanket in her mouth, and plants her back feet against my diaphragm in order to catapult herself back to the floor. The whole move is really quite spectacular. And chest thumping.