I am not always happy about Ben going to work overnight. Most of the time I accept it as a necessary evil, but occasionally I hate it with a passion. Such a time was 3am Tuesday morning. I woke with a start upon hearing
To my sleep addled brain, it sounded like a door being shut. I remember thinking, "What is Ben doing home?" After throwing out that idea, I thought, "WHO'S IN MY HOUSE?!?" I was up and out of my bed faster than any pregnant woman should be able to move and out the bedroom door. In hindsight I am not sure what I would have done if I HAD found someone in my house that shouldn't be there. Granted, a hugely pregnant woman running around her house in her underwear would be scary to just about everyone, including herself.
After wandering round my house for a minute, I went back to bed and laid there wide awake, adrenaline pumping. I was thinking to myself that it must have been one of the cats trying to scale one of the baby gates to the kitchen. In spite of this irritating but comforting thought, I continued to obsess about the sound. I convinced myself shortly that the culprit must have been hiding while I was streaking through the house and must be quietly stealing all my stuff now.
I left my room again and inspected my house again, this time with lights on. Not completely satisfied, I went back to bed but grabbed my phone so that I could text Ben about my silly behavior. I figured he was the one who could make me feel at ease.
Three messages and no response later, I left my bedroom and went to cry on my couch. Horrible ideas coursed through my brain as to why Ben wouldn't answer me. Though, how the invisible burglar got from my house to Ben's work and incapacitated him, I don't know. I finally called Ben, who had been taking a cat nap and didn't hear his phone, and talked for a while. He managed to make me feel a tiny bit better. However, by this time I was far too awake to go back to bed. I turned on the TV and watched terrible 4am programing.
Now, here is the icing on the crap cake of my morning. While curled up on the couch, Squeaky (the little monster we are cat-sitting) decided to pick on Patches. I discerned a flurry of movement out of the corner of my eye and a series of hisses assaulted my ears. Just as I was looking around to see what was up, Patches chose to use my giant tummy as an escape springboard. After chasing the offending critters around and whispering my yells at them, I returned to the couch to examine my wounds.
Please note the two scratches on the upper left and the two scratches on the lower right, along with a couple of small punctures. Owwich!