Zoey is not in my good books at the moment. She doesn't give me a chance to indulge in normal insomnia. She spends her nights keeping me awake all by herself. I wake up in the darkness to the feel of claws running through my hair followed by a steady patting. Zoey wants to play. At two o'clock in the morning. I push her down to the bottom of the bed, but like a yo-yo she's back before my hand is. I fumble for the spare pillow and cover my head against the onslaught of paws. She lowers her face and peeks under the edge of the pillow-slides her paw in, searching for my hair. I move the pillow-she jumps over me to attack from the rear. Finally I give in and after five minutes of steady petting, she curls up to sleep. But not for long. Now begins the Hunger Games. She pats me awake and jumps off the bed waiting for me to follow. Repeat as necessary until human gives up. She leads me to the kitchen where I discover to my horror there are only three tablespoons of cat food in her dish. This must be remedied immediately-a cat could starve by morning. Alternative scenario-the food dish is full but a stray hair lies across the surface of the water bowl. It must be tended to at once. Somewhere in the depths of her psyche she retains the collective memory that Egyptians knew how to treat a cat. Modern humans need to be reminded. Finally, back to bed. An hour later a repeat of the head batting. Finally she settles down but workday or not, human must get up at five-thirty to face the day. By six o'clock human has given up and heads for the shower. By the time she gets back to the bedroom where is Zoey? Curled up on the pillow fast asleep, of course. Her work for the day is done and it's time for a well-deserved nap.
Now-what am I bid?