I am awakened as Agatha cleans the inside of my left nostril. I wake up, come to terms with what is happening, extract myself from the grooming, and gently place the cat on the floor.
Agatha bites my chin. Hard. There is blood. I shriek and dump cat on the floor. Fall back asleep holding Kleenex to my chin.
I have rolled to my stomach. The sleep shirt has ridden up. Agatha licks, then bites the crevice where my thigh and buttock meet. I jackknife up, an impressive feat for someone lying on their stomach. I toss the cat off the bed.
Agatha cleans the inside of my ear. I bolt upright in bed, which somehow offends the cat. She jumps off the bed, assumes an undignified position and begins to clean her behind.
Agatha drapes herself across my face. Her chest rests on my ear and she purrs with the loudness and vibration of an outboard motor. Her stomach covers my mouth and nose, cutting off my oxygen. As hypoxia sets in, so does realization.
“Agatha, can you see the bottom of your food bowl?”
It takes me a minute to realize the cat is not going to respond. Not sure if the cognitive delay is due to oxygen deprivation or the fact that it is 3:14 in the freaking morning.
I get up, stumble to the food bowl, and see a dime-sized silver area in the middle of the bowl. I shake the bowl, effectively covering the small silver circle with food.
The cat deigns to sit down and eat. I stagger back to bed.