The cats will play

4:10. That's what time it was this morning when my daughter called me. Why can't my children ever call for Daddy? No, there's something instinctual that upon waking makes them yell my name, not Daddy's.

I stumble down the hall and figure out it's Allie this time. I go into her room and she says, Rabies is chewing on something by my bookcase. Rabies is long gone, of course, so I ask her what she wants me to do. Allie says, make him stop. I say, he already stopped, as I feel around the floor trying to see if there's anything there that a cat would find chewable. Of course, I don't have my glasses on and it's not really light out yet, so this is a useless endeavor.

Allie hops out of bed and joins me in checking the floor. She doesn't need to wear glasses, so I guess she can see a little better than me. I tell her, Allie, I don't know what he's doing but if he starts doing it again, throw something at him. She determines that she can throw one of her dolls and I leave.

Of course, the chances that I'd be able to get back to sleep until my alarm at 5:30 are pretty minimal, especially since both cats then come into our room and start chewing on something near the door. I put a hand on Greg's arm (he's slept through all of this, of course) and he awakens with a roar of WHAT? I tell him to throw one of his three pillows at the cat and he does so. The cats go tearing down the hall. There's a pile of books stacked near the door that fall over, then there's quiet in the house at last.

I didn't go back to sleep, of course. Damn cats.