The Lion is not sleeping tonight

Ryan came home from his latest trip on Sunday with a wicked chest cold. That means for the past few nights he has been snoring like a wildebeest with a deviated septum. Now, I love my husband with all my heart. However, I also know that if I do not get the proper amount of sleep each night I am slightly less pleasant to be around than a Zombie on Xanax (wow, the metaphors are flowing today). So, for the past two nights I have waited until Ryan was sound asleep and crept out to sleep on the couch with the dog and at least one cat hot on my heels.

I have previously posted on this very blog how much I love my couch. It truly is paradise. However, the paradise is a bit less when my legs are fighting a dog for space and a rather large cat is sleeping on my head. The only way to make it bearable is to stake my claim first, before they can make themselves comfortable. Monday night was no sweat. They weren't expecting me on the couch and so I was able to stretch out and fall fast asleep before they got on the couch -- so they were forced to take what room was left.

Last night they had me beat.

When I carried my blanket and pillow out to the living room just before midnight Sally had already curled up on one end of the couch and Rita, the aforementioned large cat, was sound asleep on the other end. I pushed them both off onto the floor -- threw down my pillow, but before I could put down my blanket down they both reclaimed their spot. I then tried to muscle my way in, sitting in the middle before slowly laying down and stretching out to full length. I managed to get my legs under Sally, but Rita was not going to give up that easily. After all, she still had her place -- and now she had my pillow. I slowly began to slide my head up onto the pillow, but did not get far before I heard the growl of doom.

Don't look directly into her eyes

Before I go any further I feel I should describe Rita for those who do not know her. Rita is 24 pounds of pure North Carolina barn cat fury. She was adorable as a kitten, but once she started to grow all pretense of cuddliness disappeared. For the first four years we were together Ryan couldn't get near her. My mother claims Rita cornered her when she went to feed her while we were out of town. She had to use a broom to get out the door. I am the only one who Rita seems to like. But that was before I tried to sleep on the couch.

Upon hearing the growl I can only describe as "guttural" I quickly lifted my head -- and felt her claws catch in my hair. She was pissed. Me AND the dog on the couch and her paw snarled in the hair of her adversary. I put my hand up to extricate her -- but then realized I want to keep all my fingers. So I started shaking my head vigorously, hoping she would let go. Since I wouldn't put my hand up for a small sacrifice -- she held fast. Finally, in a desperation move, I head butted her and sent her flying off the couch. Now, I don't know how many of you remember "The Princess Bride" but Rita came back towards the sofa with the same lumbering, angry gait as a Rodent of Unusual Size. She jumped, and in that moment I put my head firmly down on the pillow. My life passed before my eyes. She landed on just the other side of my head and laid down, her back turned firmly towards me. A moment later she began snoring only slightly quieter than Ryan. It was a truce. I drifted off to sleep, careful not to change my position for fear of starting round two.

I went back into my bed about 5am, when Ryan came out to tell me he wasn't snoring any more and to please come join him. I left my blanket and pillow, figuring I would put the couch back together this morning before going to work. That turned out not to be an option. When I went to retrieve my bedding and replace the sofa cushions I found Rita sprawled on the couch, her body on the blanket, her head on the pillow. I knew better than to wake her.