"No milk, no cookies. Nothing." September 16, 2002 - 5:13 a.m.

No sleep yet for me. My sleep schedule has been all kinds of wonky for ages, so I shouldn't be surprised.

I went around and turned off all the lights, turned the tv on, and popped in a video. Yeah, I said video. I don't have a dvd player in my bedroom, or else I'm sure it would have been a disc I decided to watch. I chose an 80's film. one of the 'Corey' flicks, amazingly not The Lost Boys. Although it's always a favorite.

I curled up on the bed, against the wall. No covers though. It's too fucking hot for that. Considering the heat, I made myself as comfortable as possible. As did Romeo, who was sprawled out at the end of the bed, laying directly beside his rawhide and stuffed toy. he purposefully does this to protect his belongings from the treat-stealer; aka-Lady, our other dog. He'll occasionally kick and growl in his sleep, with his ears flickering around like a flame in a tornado. I often wonder, as do most people, what goes on inside an animal's head. Do they have visuals and consciousness of emotions? Do they dream? If so, is it normal sights, or is it more David Lynch, fucked up, acid trip effects that make so sense whatsoever? These creatures need to learn how to talk so they can tell us. But then, what would we think of in those moments of cranial exploration? Oh... I'm sure we could find something...

A little white kitten with black spots appears on the side of the bed. She's grown so much since we've had her. Grown enough to jump up onto the bed with no effort. Grown enough to be fearless around the dogs and cat. Grown enough to find me, wherever I may be in the house, when she wants her sleepy-time attention.

She runs to me, purring, trying to vocalize those sweet meows of affection. She walks across me like I'm a rug on the floor.

Hi. I'm a rug, here for your stinky feet to smuch me. Stomp on me. It's okay, that's what I'm here for.

I continued watching Dream a Little Dream through fiber-optic whiskers and purr filtered sounds.

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