Hear Ye, Hear Ye!
Be it known throughout the land of Bedroomville, that cats are hereby banished in the hours between midnight and whenever-the-hell-I-decide-to-get-up.
Yes, this means you, you miserable, furry sacks of mayhem.
I am done. Done. Do you hear me?
No more laying on the pillow and pushing your fuzzy butt against me until I move off of it in my sleep. No more picking a fight with each other over my prone body or worse, standing on my chest.
No more deciding that a foot moving under covers is a dangerous interloper that must be attacked and subdued at all costs and at any time of the night or early morning.
No more sharpening claws by repeatedly smacking and clawing at the glass shower doors in the master bathroom, causing them to vibrate and clang loudly. I am a single woman, and such a sound at 2:45 am means I've either got a serial killer in my house or a zombie attack is imminent. Neither is a welcome scenario when I've been peacefully dreaming about Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.
Especially when I've been dreaming about Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. And body oil.
And don't think you can roll on the floor like that, looking all adorable and I'll just cave. 'Cause this time, I won't.
(Hopefully, not for long, anyway....)
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