I Would ’twere Bed-time

Spriggan and I went to bed pretty late last night, like after 2:00.  We woke up at 8:00 to give her a bathroom break and went right back to sleep, as usual.  We had switched positions, and I had my arm over her in her bed, and she was sleeping pressed tightly against my chest, with her head tucked over my hand.

I had to get up at 9:00 to meet the wildlife removal guy again, and when my alarm went off, it woke me from a dream in which the director of the play I’m working on was, in this case, a photographer.  She found Spriggan and I such an endearing pair that she wanted to photograph us both sleeping.

There was a bed set up with lights around it for the photos, and I curled up next to Spriggan, both of us closing our eyes.  Strangely, in the dream, I think I actually fell asleep despite all the commotion of the shoot, and I would wake up to the photographer right next to us, taking pictures of our adorable sleeping position.

Then I woke up in the exact position from the dream.  My first thought was, “Awwwwww!” and my second was, “Damn.  This means those pictures aren’t real.”

I can’t reproduce my part in the pictures, but here’s where Spriggan was after I woke up, got out of bed, turned off my alarm, and fetched Spriggan’s leash and my robe and slippers from the living room:

Still Sleepy 1

“Why are you awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake, Mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?”

She had no interest in getting out of bed, so I took a few more.

"Come back to bed and keep me warm."

“Come back to bed and keep me warm.”

And a close-up…

"Please?"

“Please?”

But I knew that if I were going to get the dogs up and fed and do Pixie’s eye-drops and give everyone a chance to go out before the wildlife guy came, we had to get movin’.  I dragged Spriggan out of her bed and onto our mattress in preparation for putting her leash on.

As if a lazy teenager in a cartoon, she turned immediately around, stretched out, and oozed back onto her bed… first laying her head on the edge, then one front paw, followed by the other paw and her belly, finally climbing all the way back into her bed.

She flounced around a bit, burying her head under the sides of the bed and generally protesting my desire to remove her from it:

"Not going."

“Not going.”

I got her up anyway, and when I picked her up, she plopped her head on my chest emphatically, as if to say, “You can take me out of bed, but you can’t wake me up.”

Now she’s asleep in the crook of my arm.

 

 

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