My Pillow Thief

I don't get to do many things alone. I don't get to sleep alone; hubby insists that part of marriage is sharing a bed & that Ricky & Lucy's separate beds are not how he wants to sleep. I don't get to bathe alone; someone always has something of importance to tell me right then while I'm in the shower or bath. I don't get do my business alone; someone, whether it be human or pet, thinks that's the best time to get my undivided attention. 

And now I don't get to even sleep on my own pillow alone. 

Every night a certain someone joins me in my bed, crawls up as close to my body as they can get, & with a determined look on their face, they go straight for my pillow. Then this certain someone lays down on my pillow as if it's just meant for two. 

Let me tell you, a pillow is not meant to be shared. It's the perfect size for Personal Space for a reason. It's made that way so that you have one thing in life that you don't have to share. Certain someones don't care about that.

My pillow companion.

Not only do I have a sleeping human next to me, taking up bed space, but now I have a sleeping feline taking up pillow space. I just can't do anything alone.

Watson is not what he looks like; he is not merely a cat. Watson is a toddler stuck in a cat body. I am positive that at some point someone was upset with their 3 year old & cursed them, "In your second life, I hope you're a cat!" I personally never said anything like that to my 3 year olds, but weird things do come out of your mouth when you're dealing with toddlers. In my head it makes sense. When you meet Watson it makes sense. 

He's needy, he's obsessed with his toys & doesn't want to share them, he cries until you give him what he wants, he is glued to me, he throws fits by ruining things & is the reason I can't have nice things, he lets his moods be known, & he can open doors so you can't keep him out of things you don't want him to get into. He's a toddler in a cat body. 

Of course sleeping with him is like sleeping with a 3 year old child too. He takes up more space than you think his body should & he doesn't care that parts of his body invade the space for parts of your body. 

A foot in the eye, no big deal.

Every night. No exceptions.

A foot in the nose, don't mind me.

Whenever my toddlers slept with me, I ended up with feet in my face, fingers up my nose or in my ears, & knees jammed into my ribs. No difference here. 

Oh, wait, one difference...

My hair is not a snack, cat.

...they never chewed on my hair before they fell asleep.

I had resigned myself to never doing anything alone until all my kids are out of the house. I didn't know that would one day also include a toddler cat.