I put the "sleeping" in brackets for a reason!

Sleeping with a single cat can be difficult, but sleeping with more than one can be close to impossible. They all try to sleep tucked against you in some way or other. If there is more than one, this can end in hissing arguments, paddy slaps, and a thunder-footed chase.

Sometimes my husband and I find ourselves sleeping with each other, two body pillows, and three cats, which is quite a challenge, especially when he or I must turn over and rearrange those body pillows for the comfort of our aging knees and spines. We usually have Sky curled right between us, with his head sharing one of our pillows—usually my husband’s--because Sky is primarily Daddy’s cat. He’s an old, fat, stiff, gray and white boy. He tends to bite if you happen to twitch while you sleep, or if, in turning over, you happen to press on his tail, which has three distinct bends in it from an old injury suffered before he came to live with us. It’s not a good way to wake up, with fangs buried in your hand.

Then there is Lizzie, who is small, orange and chock full of female flights of fancy. She hops up on the bed, and then walks along the nearest human, pausing with utter disregard for the fact that she’s balanced on your kneecap, or directly atop your bladder. How someone so small can be so heavy is a mystery, but each foot is a little jackhammer, always landing in the worst possible place. If you push her or yell “Damn it! Get off!” her big green eyes instantly telegraph the fact that you are an unspeakable brute, the kind who doesn’t deserve to own such a priceless, sensitive being!

I wouldn’t mind her way of settling if it didn’t last long, but she can’t make up her mind, and wanders back and forth for sometimes as long as 20 minutes. She gets up, walks around, then lies across your leg in a way that means you won’t be able to readjust it, or in a way which shuts of some small, crucial piece of circulation. If you do move the leg to cure the resulting pins-and-needles, then she begins her tour again, pausing once more in those same, uncomfortable places.

Sometimes she demands to get under the covers. Now, this I like, especially in winter. There is nothing as relaxing as a lovely warm fuzzy pool of sleeping cat against your back, or curled beside you, but just as you begin to relax and drift off, she has to push her way out and rethink her choices.

Lizzie especially likes under the covers if young Murr is already comfortable and sleeping under there. Murr is a tiger Maine Coon with big, gentle, furry bedroom-slipper feet, and a reclusive manner. He loves to be under covers, loves to be wrapped in blankets like a doll by my granddaughters. Still, if Lizzie is jealous—which is always—she will scratch her way under the blankets simply to drive him out. As Murr gets bigger and becomes more assertive, this can lead to a growling, feline whining argument, the kind which leaves you wishing your nightgown was twice as thick, in case they get careless with those concealed weapons they carry.

Sometimes we’ll all get settled, just warm and nicely drifting off in a pool of creature comfort, and then one of us will turn over--and the whole darn process will begin all over again.