This is Chester. We’re both a little tired this morning.
I spent a little too much time on the next few chapters of my NaNoWriMo project and lost track of time. It was going so well, I thought it best not to interrupt the flow of words.
This morning, after getting to bed about 2:30 am, I found it hard to get out of bed.
Fortunately, as usual, I had the cat alarm clock wake me out of deep sleep to be informed that it was breakfast.
I looked at the clock and saw it was 6:30 am.
I mean to say, Chester was with me at 2:30 when I was writing, and he didn’t tell me that it was time to go to bed, much earlier than I did.
I think he enjoys torturing me like this.
I get up, get him breakfast, some smelly fish food that even he turns his nose up at, and go out to the writing room with the intention of getting on with the story.
Next thing I know, there’s a gentle tapping on my forehead,
I wake up and it’s Chester.
What? I ask. You can’t possibly want more food.
No. I thought you were dead.
That’s amusing, he sees me asleep in bed and doesn’t think I’m dead.
How could you think that?
There are only two reasons why people become inanimate in their chair, they have suffered a heart attack or stroke, or they’re dead.
What about simply falling asleep because they’re too tired, and their faithful assistant didn’t tell them to go to bed earlier?
Look, let’s not make a beak deal out of this. I was concerned. Perhaps I won’t be next time. A final glare and he jumps down off the keyboard, which left a page of endless d’s on the page I had been working on.
Perhaps he’s getting old and forgetful, or, suddenly he realises I mean more to him than just giving him food and cleaning the litter. No, stop deluding yourself. You’re his friend, he’s not your friend.
Oh, well, for a moment there…