Anyone who's ever spent time on LOLCats knows that cats are weird. Ours are no exception. We call them Crack Kitties (affectionately, of course), and are convinced that they keep a stash of controlled substances hidden behind the sofa, which turns them from sweet, docile creatures into raving fiends more or less instantaneously.
Lately, I've been so tired that I've missed most of their middle-of-the-night shenanigans (i.e., wind sprints over the bed). But I've also been HOT -- and I'm not talking Angelina Jolie hot. I'm talking sweaty, smelly, cranky hot. My solution? Crank up the AC. Sure, I'm costing us a hundred extra bucks a month on the electric bill, but MAMA NEEDS HER SLEEP.
You'd think, since cats are covered in fur, that they could handle it. But NO. I've woken up several times this week (for one of my multiple nightly trips to pee) to one stretched out flush against one side of my furnace-y body, and the other one either flush on the other side or wedged in my crotch. Once, Big Boy (not his real name, but an accurate description of his physique) was lounging across my legs, resulting in a legs-asleep knee-buckling crawl to the bathroom. And then, when I return, they've both curled up on the warm (wet, sweaty) spot that I've left on my side of the bed. Which would be kind of cute most of the time.