Living with the Devil

This isn’t about The Boy. Or my faith.

This is about the furbabies.

They may look sweet, but they have the devil inside. And the devil appears at 5 am on Saturday morning.

It starts calmly enough – a little fuzzy creature snuggling close enough to wake you up while it’s still dark on a sleep-in-Saturday morning.

Don’t believe they just want a cuddle. They do not want a cuddle. They want you to get out of bed to give them treats.

If you don’t move (much) after cuddling, the furbabies will leave and regroup in the other room. Then Bridget will return and push your arm with one paw, sitting back to stare at you between each push.

She’ll do this approximately 10 times.

Before long you’ll get the uncomfortable feeling that someone is staring at you. If you open your eyes, you’ll discover that Ben is staring at you, nose to nose. He believes in psychological warfare.

A “fight” will break out on the bed, on top of your legs, and the furbabies will make excessive noise leaving the room (to regroup).

If you are foolish enough to stay in bed, Ben will return to sit at the foot of the bed and cry. Loudly. For five minutes.

These aren’t tears of frustration. He’s signaling that it’s time for the final assault.

Bridget returns and walks up your legs until she’s standing on your belly, with paws pressed firmly into your bladder.

Yep, I’m up.

The kicker to all of this? After I dash to the morning pit stop, both furbabies wander into the bathroom, stop and yawn, as if to say Oh? You’re up?