Tectonic Sleeping

Sleeping is one of my strengths; I am an Olympic-caliber sleeper. Compared to me, L'il Abner is a piker. I have slept standing up at the top of Mount Fuji in the cold pre-dawn hours and actually slept well on a platform at Steep Ravine with the wind howling and the rain beating down. My Beloved remarks, sometimes with a little exasperation, that it usually takes me under 30 seconds after the goodnight snuggle to fall into sleep breathing (his diplomatic way of describing my snoring). I'm a good sleeper.

The ISC is, too. In fact, all cats seem to have this amazing capacity for sleep. However, she insists on being served breakfast at a very early hour and has an unlimited repertoire of tactics for getting those two lazy bums out of bed to feed her. One of the most effective is pointing her whiskers straight forward and poking them into one's peacefully sleeping face - it's like walking into a spiky stiff spiderweb.

Another strategy is to jump onto the bed right next to one's head, a sure startle from a sound sleep. That's what I figured she was doing yesterday morning when the bed suddenly jiggled and MB awoke with a start, but I maligned the little darling unfairly - turns out it was an earthquake in the nearby Hayward Fault.

I came to California expecting nearly daily shocks and jiggles - for several months, every heavy truck that passed had me asking, "Is that an earthquake?" I've settled down some since then. Now it takes 4.5 or higher to even break the rhythm of my sleep breathing. And the ISC doesn't notice them at all after she's been served her breakfast and returned to bed with us for a catnap.