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 have no idea what I'm doing.