Joel F

Jerk

Every day my cat wakes me up meowing while he rubs his nose all over my face. I usually keep my eyes closed and grab a hold of his tiny body. He purrs for a while, escapes, walks in a small circle and goes for my face again, but I don't even notice because I'm dreaming. I stay in my dreams, knowing to anticipate a cold, spongy nose-kiss every few minutes. After a while, Moxie gets fed up with his cloudy-headed owner and starts trying to break something.

This morning I somehow found the exact center of comfort on my air mattress. My body formed a T-shape in the middle, with both of my arms stretched out. I began to sink. My head became barricaded in a storm of puffy pillows. I was facing the ceiling, so I couldn't see my lower body, but I sensed that I was lying underneath one more comforter than usual. My legs felt weighted. I was floating below sea level.

I woke sloshed in the rubbery puddle of my air mattress. To the right of me my cat was using his one unclipped nail to puncture my blow-up bed. I must have completely missed the morning kisses, sending Moxie right into a morning tantrum. He pushed his weaponized paw again and again against the rubber, like he's morsing a telegram into my dream, telling me that he is hungry for some white-flake tuna. I guess the little green eyed devil had achieved puncturation because there was clearly air missing beneath me. Oh well. Better get the tuna.