Late night sleeping has been interrrupted the last two nights at my house. I love, love, love my sleep. I consider napping an art form (even though I am a crappy nap artist), and I aspire to sleep as late in the mornings as possible. The women I work with try not to call my house before 11 am, and even then they think twice. Now that we have that background out of the way, let's discuss the events of the last two nights.
Thursday night, Brad and I are trying to sleep, when we hear an unusual noise. We can't identify where it is coming from, and it stops pretty quickly. We chalk it up to some unkown critter outside, and head off to Sandman Land. Until 1:30 am. The mystery noise is back, very loud, and seems to be coming from my dresser. Have you every heard a moose call? That's what it sounded like...coming from under my dresser. Now, I like moose. But I don't want to meet the one that can make that loud of a noise while stuffed under a cherry dresser. And then I thought...where's Bast? So I call my petite little kitty's name...and she meows at me from under the dresser. The horrible, scary noise? Is my cat snoring!!!!
I've never heard a cat snore before. It's not pretty, trust me. And then she wants to play, and be petted, and purr louder than a Mack truck. It was a while before I fell back asleep, let's just say that, ok? And then I had to get up at the ungodly hour of 6 am, because Brad and I are carpooling whenever possible. It's worked well, we've saved almost $120 in gas the last two weeks, but it's hell on me. Remember, I like my sleep.
So Friday night, I'm ready for bed. At like 8 pm. I've had a lovely dinner of chicken breast, rice, black beans and sour cream wrapped up in a flour tortilla. I've finished knitting my second ever mitten, and it is the same size as the first one. And they both fit my hands. In other words, it's been a good evening, and I'm ready for a date with Vin Diesel in dreamland. I manage to stay awake until 9:30. And then Brad and I toddle off to bed, to sleep the sleep of the just, wrapped in two quilts, with the window open, and the fan blowing. I'm only 39, but occassionally I experience a personal warming trend, and I like to be cold when I sleep, to better enable the cuddling under quilts thing.
All is well until 2:30 am, when I am awakened by someone knocking on my front door. Now, we live in the country. When someone is knocking on your door after dark, it's not a good thing. At 2:30 am, it's very bad. So I did what every self-respecting country wife does. I woke up my husband to tell him someone is knocking on the door at 2:30 am. He laid there for a minute, and said, "That's the fan." I got up and turned off the fan in our window. Still knocking noises. He then informs me it's the fan in the living room, rolls over, goes back to sleep. I consider pulling the quilts off of him. I walk into the living room, and low and behold, it is the fan making that noise. I turn it off, go back to bed. Realize when I cuddle up to sleeping, unconcerned-about-ax-murderers husband, that if I don't turn the fan in our window back on, I'm going to melt in about 10 seconds. Turn fan back on, get back in bed, settle in, ready to resume my date with Mr. Diesel. Then Bast decides it's time for a cuddle and purr session. Have I mentioned she is LOUD! At least I got to sleep in until 7 am this morning.
Tomorrow is Sunday, and I do not have to leave my house. I will be sleeping as late as destiny and a 3 month old puppy will let me. And then I will be cleaning my bathroom, catching up on laundry (which seems to mean making sure it all gets folded and put away. Who knew?), and working on the instructions on my latest mystery quilt for the shop retreat this fall. I hope that nothing else in my house decides to make mystery noises tonight. Three nights in a row would be too much. And I own guns. I'd hate to have to shoot the microwave.