“Kids! Everyone in the kitchen!” I yelled.
The recent arrival of Angel, our new kitten, has moved this household in a direction I never thought possible – the cats are allowed to wander about the house at night while we sleep instead of being locked up in the sleep out which I’ve affectionately renamed ‘the cat room’.
Moreso, instead of wandering the little ‘darlings’ tend to sleep on our beds. Or more specifically, our bed. And even more specifically, my side of the bed – Angel behind my back while Minion likes to snuggle between my feet. As I’ve never ever liked cats this is akin to Darth Vader sharing his bed with a couple of Ewoks.
Actually, as an analogy that sounds way wrong. But moving on.
“Now!” I yelled at the kids. Then I remembered my manners. “Please!”
Heads popped out of doorways and around corners. Eyebrows were raised. There was a hint of fear in her eyes.
There was a hint of fear in mine too.
“Who,” I started once they were all assembled in front of me, “came into my room last night and spilled water on my bed?”
My question was met with silence.
“Like a cup of water? Maybe a small cup. Who brought a cup of water into our room?”
Now there was a sea of little heads in front of me, shaking madly. Then they started looking at each other to see who was going to be missing out on electronics for the rest of their life.
I saw the problem here.
“You’re not in trouble,” I assured them. “Trust me. I will not punish whoever it was. Not one bit. In fact, I’m begging you – if you accidentally, or even on purpose, tipped water onto my doona where my feet are I just want to know.”
“Did you wet your bed, Dad,” asked Master10.
“Ewwww,” squealed Miss11 and Miss8 in unison.
“I didn’t,” I said perhaps a little too defensively.
“That’s okay, Daddy,” said Miss5. “Emmy does sometimes too.”
“Honest,” I assured her, “I didn’t.”
“What’s going on?” asked Tracey, coming into the room.
“I think,” I said, almost gagging, “one of the cats pee’d on our bed.”
This elicited more ewwws from the girls, but I hadn’t even got to the really bad bit.
“On my side!”
Tracey marched into our room.
“The bed’s fine,” she said after a few moments. “Nothing. No pee. No water. It’s not wet.”
She reached down and turned off the electric blanket, which I’d clearly forgotten to turn off when I went to bed last night. As usual.
“It was just cold, you idiot.” She’s always making up these cute pet names for me. “Your foot just touched a bit of the doona which wasn’t superheated.”
And I tested her theory. She was right. Cold feels wet when you’re hot as me at night.
Which probably also explains why the cats are sleeping with me – since buying Tracey an electric blanket for Mothers Day, my side of the bed is always toasty.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”