I go to bed early while the wife stays up late. With both of us retired I still get up most mornings before dawn while the wife no longer has that 75-mile round trip commute in traffic to Manhattan and loves to sleep in until noon. I bury myself in tussled blankets and comforters in a horror pile while the wife prefers to sleep in a neat bed with expensive sheets below her and expensive covers over her.

I have flopped in two-dollar skid joints and worse places as a Marine while the wife has traveled the world first class for Merrill Lynch.

And that's why most nights I wind up sleeping now with the former whore street cat Mister Mittens.

This morning Mister Mittens woke me up in the dark with paw pokes (claws in) to my side. In the dark I tossed a ratty comforter over her and she hissed. I reached under the comforter and she grabbed my hand with her fronts (still claws in) and licked my hand. I rubbed her up and got out of bed to feed her. She raced downstairs to calmly sit by her feed dish while allowing me time to pee, fart, moan, yawn and scratch my old equipment. I like that formally feral female feline a lot.