When I got home from work tonight, I was not greeted at the door by Tig. I didn’t see him in the living room or kitchen. I hurried upstairs, and found him–ta da!–in the bed. On his side of the bed. Not mine. His. Not the side with the nighttable and alarm clock and telephone and flashlight. His side. Not the side where he’s been sleeping every night for the past three nights, making me actually move the travel alarm onto his side of the bed so I didn’t have to reach over Tig (and all of the space he seems to seize) to turn off the alarm. His side.
I cannot tell you how happy this sight made me.
Now I can share that happiness–and that sight–with you. He stayed up there long enough for me to get a picture, and then I heard the familiar (extremely loud) thump that indicates Tig will be downstairs to annoy me forthwith, and he trundled over to me, eyes half-closed in happiness, demanding attention.
His side of the bed. Not mine.
His.
Oh, that’s great! I’m glad the situation is resolved.
Skritches to Tig (and Gracie, too).
Yay!
Well done and how did you do it, Meryl? In the several months I’ve had had, Ingrid has found which part of my bed she likes–it’s the exact center. Apparently she feels I have plenty of room to twist around her.
We’re still debating this matter every night.