Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Timing Is Everything
Pat. Pat, pat, pat. A soft paw lightly pats my arm. I open one eye. It's pitch-black dark and the clock says 4:30. "Oh, Ralph. It's too early. Go back to sleep." Pat. Pat, pat, pat. Ralph seldom asks for affection but he has poor timing. He'll jump onto my lap just after I've checked and see it's time to get going. "Sorry, pretty boy. I've got to stand up now." Pat, pat, pat. Eyes closed, I stroke Ralph's head for a bit and then tuck my hand under the cover and hope. Pat, pat on my face. "More, please." So of course I stroke him some more. Then he flops over for a belly rub. I think Ralph has an identity crisis, not sure of his species when he acts so doglike. I check the time again and it's 5 a.m. I've been sleeping in lately, but not today. Thanks, Ralph.