I go to bed, to sleep, like one does.
My senior baby Mr. Nefarious, supervillain extraordinaire, stepping on my head and yeowling in my ears, "how dare you sleep in my bed. You're not the human I want to snuggle. Get out."
If this fails he will add staring an inch from my face until I feel him watching me and scream for big shiny eyes too close. Sometimes, he bites me. On the head. I don't even know how he does that.
Last night it was a fun game of the staring and the stepping and then 'let's run up and down mama's body until she grabs us and squishes us like a teddy bear'.
He likes when my husband snuggles him, sleeps in his arms even. Me? I get tortured.
This morning, after a night of all of that I'd finally gotten him to leave the room when my little baby Spook chased Mr. Nefarious back in and this time he ran over me to tell on him.
Chose to run over my face, of course.
I love him. He's evil incarnate. But I love him.
He's also seventeen now and feels like a bag of bones so I can't beat him with pillows anymore.
















