I woke up one fine morning to a sea of black in front of my eyes. Not darkness, but pitch-black something. Aside from the confusion, for a hot second I sorta thought I had died. Then I realized there was something covering my face, so I reached up, and it turned out it was just Tinkerbell sleeping on my face. I’m guessing she was using my pillow as a bed, but then I was taking up too much room, so she decided to use my face, instead.
I wish I could say this only happened once, but Phoebe, who would let us use her as a pillow but then would chase dogs three times her size down the street, also had a liking for sleeping on my pillow. I once woke with her sleeping so close to my face that I had to wonder if I had foiled a well-planned attempt to smother me in my sleep. When I tried to move my head, she turned around, and bopped me on the head.
The moral of this story is that you shouldn’t let your cats use your face as a pillow, otherwise you might think you died.
I met a nice traveler, Jean Paul, and his dog while walking downtown today. He started off a conversation by showing me some of his art—a circle made of the words love, peace, and hope—and asking for a favor: one random fact. I told him I was really missing my cats today, but seeing a dog (or really any animal) made it a bit better. We got into a nice conversation, and he said that one of the best gifts people have to give, one they often forget about, is their own words and imagination.
I agreed; these gifts are some of the most readily available to us personally, but also those which we’re least inclined to share, despite the fact that they’re usually the most sought after by others. That being said, maybe it would be good for me to start sharing my words and thoughts more in real life. Maybe that’s something we should all try to do.
I have no idea what I'm doing.