last night was rough

I didn’t sleep so well last night.

See, Taylor is afraid of wind. Taylor, my cat, for those of you who are new to the pages. Something about it drives him insane. I think he thinks that someone should be walking by, as when he is usually standing around a gust of wind in his direction means that someone is passing by on their way to the kitchen (food) or bathroom (litter) or couch (warm lap). And when it is windy, there’s a huge breeze passing by him but he cannot find anyone who is traveling around.

Last night a cold front blew in and made for an incredible wind storm. I probably would have slept through it except that there was the sound of Taylor freaking out (“waaa waaa waa waaaaaaaaaaaah wa wa wah!”) every five minutes. You have to know that normally he rarely makes a sound, except for food requests. So I shoot up in bed thinking that he is really, truly dying or in great pain or has gotten himself lost in the bathtub again. I call his name and he runs into the room and just stares at me. Nothing seems to be wrong. So I go back to sleep, only to be awakened again in fifteen minutes by more cat singing.

This time I find Taylor in the closet, trying to dig a hole in the back corner. Apparently he wanted to build an underground system that would allow him to still eat and chase Lillith, without being exposed to wind. So I move Taylor out of the closet and try to put him under the covers with me, where I find Lillith, hiding between the blankets and the bed so you can’t see her, nor feel her, nor find her. It was like she was laminated between all of the blankets on the bed.

At this point my patience is waning, and the first few rays of morning light were beginning to shine through my room. I rolled over to cuddle with Eric. I put my arm around him and he was very cold. This usually happens, though, since he ends up kicking off most of the covers in his sleep and he likes the bedroom to be chilly at night.

But remember I’m still sleepy and groggy, so as I go to cover him up my brain starts kicking in, “He’s dead.”

So, I start to freak out, thinking that perhaps he is dead and that he died in his sleep. I put my head on his back and listen for a heartbeat.

I hear nothing.

And I had this moment right then, about how much I loved him, and how much I loved being with him, and how if that was our last night together, I wish we hadn’t spent it playing video games and reading books and acting all strange. I recalled some of our last conversations together:

[scripty]
PAMIE
Why do you keep going into whatever room I’m not in?

ERIC
(in other room)
I don’t know, I guess I’m just trying to find some space.

PAMIE
Do you not want to hang out with me?

ERIC
Of course I want to hang out with you. Come back in the living room.

PAMIE
What are we going to do?

ERIC
I don’t know, we’ll play Scrabble.

PAMIE
Then we won’t talk for three hours.

ERIC
Well, what do you want to–
look, will you come in here so we stop yelling at each other across the hall?

PAMIE
Okay. Will you carry me?

ERIC
What?

PAMIE
You never carry me.

INSIDE ERIC’S HEAD
I’m living with a crazy woman.

ERIC
Carry you?

PAMIE
Yeah, when you’re in love and feeling romantic, you’re supposed to carry them around.

ERIC
Well, you never ask me to carry you.

PAMIE
If you ask, then that’s not romantic.

ERIC
Well, if you want me to–

PAMIE
Just forget it.

Later, in bed before falling asleep…

ERIC
Why are we in such a goofy mood?

PAMIE
I don’t know… but that would be you in a goofy mood. I’m just tired.

ERIC
Why are you so tired? I mean, you had all yesterday off.

PAMIE
I CLEANED THE HOUSE UP TO GET IT STEAM CLEANED AND I HAD THAT AUDITION… AND I ONLY HAD A HALF DAY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

INSIDE ERIC’S HEAD
Shit.

ERIC
Oh. Yeah, you must be tired.

PAMIE
yessssss.

ERIC
Me too.

PAMIE
Yeah, you must be exhausted from playing that “I’m invisible” video game all night.

ERIC
It’s a hard game.
[/scripty]

And now I was lying here, with my head on his back, not feeling the comforting rise and fall or the sound of his heartbeat. And I’m thinking:

“Oh, no. He’ll never know how much I really love him. I can’t believe that he left so quietly during the night. I can’t believe I was helping Taylor out of the sock pile while he was slipping away. Why? Why is this happening to me? I’ll never love again. I’ll slowly pine away all Bronte style with dark circles under my eyes and a quiet somber strong tilt of my chin that says ‘I am a woman who loved so deeply and could never love that much again.’ I shall make shawls and quilts and never truly achieve all of my goals because I just lack the strength, the heart, the–”

I shoved him. “Sweetie?” I shouted.

“Hmmf,” his squished up face asked.

“Oh, I thought you were dead. I couldn’t hear or see you breathing.”

“I’m stealthy,” was his reply.

I can’t wait for Eric to return that spy video game to Blockbuster.

[db]

Oh, and happy anniversary, Shmoopie.