The frost is on the vine, the leaves are turning scarlet and gold, and the household vermin think it is time to start sleeping under the covers! My little Leslie was an expert at subtly slithering under the blankets without waking me at all. Once, when my parents were visiting, and my father was sleeping in my bed, Leslie (I can’t believe that he didn’t notice it wasn’t me in the bed) crept under the covers in his usual inconspicuous way. At four in the morning, one of Leslie’s many enemies – the newspaper – flopped onto the front porch. Leslie erupted, as he did every morning at that time, barking and ferocious, to save us from the invading intruder! My father, starting awake at the uproar, as he later told us, thought that he had died and woken up in hell. Now this is ridiculous, because my father was holier than the pope, and if he woke up anywhere, it would not be hell. My mother was quite rude and thought the whole thing hysterically funny. She welcomed Leslie into her bed, but my father was a more fastidious type.
The current vermin are not so sly. Or maybe just less adroit. In any case, they demand to sleep under the covers, but neither Michael nor Margaret is clever enough to get him or herself under independently. This means that, should I go to sleep before they are ready to retire, they have to waken me so I can lift the covers and let them under. I usually ignore their pathetic whimpers as long as possible, but I know that eventually, Margaret will scratch my head or Michael will touch my nose with his paw. One thing I can’t stand is a cat touching my nose with his paw. Michael knows and takes advantage of it. Grrrrrrr! What spoiled vermin!
PS The two large individuals above are Margaret's guests, and would not be welcome in my bed no matter how pathetic they made themselves.
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