Around 1:45 this morning, the most plaintive of voices pierced our slumber, not once but 8-10 times. At first I thought it was a baby, but as my brain ascended through the layers of blear I realized that it was Leon, our shy cat. The most frequently heard and feared variant of his voice alerts us to the fact that his delicate tummy is out of balance and that he is leaving a little pukey present for us somewhere in the house, hopefully on the wood floor or a forgiving rug instead of upholstered furniture.
This was not that meow. Something else was going on, probably a raccoon, possum, fox or coyote out on the patio. Or George, the cat from two houses down who sometimes rambles in the night.
At any rate, by the time I got out of bed and went downstairs to see what was what the crisis was it had apparently passed and Leon was acting all cool and surprised to see me. But it took some time for both Mary and me to get back to sleep and my morning routine is delayed.
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