It’s nighttime. I have adjusted my blanket, just the way I like it. Gently pulled up to my chin, ever so soft and warm. Sleep comes easily.
Later in the night, I wake. Cold. My blanket is at the bottom of the bed. It’s become a nest. For them.
They have entered stealthfully. Together. Thick as thieves. Which is exactly what they are.
They stole my bankie.
If I’m lucky, they’ve left me enough to cover one leg. I struggle back to sleep.
At some point, one of them says to the other, let’s sleep on her. You take the small of her back, I’ll get on her legs.
After a while, I wake. No feeling in my feet. This is not good at my age. I need circulation. I push the offenders off. They’re persistent. Back and forth we go. They win. I sleep. Again. Fitfully.
Later, the bed quivers and shakes. It wakes me. It’s them, of course. They’re stretching and limbering up for a nighttime snack. But they’ll be back. Soon. I know.
On and on it goes..…only dawn and their feral need for breakfast will break the cycle.
Later in the morning when I gently fold the well-loved Ann Arbor Blanket, I can see that Oscar needs a thorough brushing and Basil’s front claws could do with a little trimming.
Trust in the blanket. It holds the evidence and the story of the nighttime thieves.