Between sickness (Sophia is now on her THIRD antibiotic, shoot me please) and trips to New Mexico to take the kids to camp (Max is now home and Raphi is now gone), I have never slept ever. I am made entirely of sleep deprivation. When my head hits a pillow, I get so excited I almost can't sleep.
That's not true. I sleep.
Last night, that's exactly what I was doing. I had gotten myself to bed at a lovely hour, and fully intended to stay there until the morning had lost its sting. That third antibiotic seems to have been the charm for Sophia, and she doesn't cough that much anymore at night and almost never throws up, so I planned to actually sleep right through. It was going to be gooooood. My mouth sort of watered as I shoved my feet between the cool, lovely sheets.
About four in the morning I heard our cat Melody thundering around the room, leaping and running and scrabbling across the floor. She has this stuffed blue monkey that she attacks in a fierce routine that Max calls Monkey Death Battle, and that's what I figured she was doing. That's fine, as long as she doesn't bring it onto the bed, and she was rampaging around on the floor. I relaxed back toward sleep.
Then Melody jumped up on the foot of my bed. And then she started scrabbling around by my feet. She was so active that I lifted my head to glare at her. When I looked at her, she looked back at me.
When she looked back at me, she lost hold of the mouse she was fighting with.
And in a flash, a strobe light length of time, an unbelievably quick moment, that mouse scurried away from my cat, the killing machine. It ran away from her and up the length of the bed and over my shoulder.
My own, personal shoulder.
I clapped my hand to my shoulder in an automatic reaction, and for just a moment its soft, warm body wriggled between my palm and the very top of my shoulder. And then it scrabbled free and slipped over the top of the mattress and was gone.
Except not gone. Under my bed.
I leapt to my feet and shrieked helpfully at Clay, "IT WAS A MOUSE IT WAS A MOUSE IT WAS A MOUSE SHE HAD A MOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUSEEEE."
He jumped out of bed too, because that's just what you do when your beloved is gibbering in the dark at 4 AM. I told him the story (a couple of times, because of the "dead sleep"/"alert and concerned" transition time). He peered over the top of the mattress, moved the curtains around a little, then looked at me.
"Are you sure. Did you SEE the mouse?"
And friends, it is a testimony to my deep and abiding love for that man that I did not kill him where he stood. Deep love. Very deep.
After it was determined that there was no longer a mouse in our bed, we returned to sleeping. Actually, Clay returned to sleep. I lay rigid and still, listening for mouse-like sounds. When his alarm went off at 5:30, he glanced over to find me staring at him, wide-eyed. He was surpised to see that I was letting Melody sleep on my chest, but I figured that she seemed to CATCH the mice and the take them ELSEWHERE, so damn straight I was sleeping with the cat. That was the only safe place to be.
Somewhat predictably, I was so tired today that when I put the sheets in the washer (because OF COURSE I put the sheets in the washer. My washer has a "sanitize setting. DUH.), I accidentally put my pillow in too. I am a sparkling conversationalist today. And a pretty pretty princess.
And I'm sleeping under my dumb cat tonight, too.