PETS AND PLANNING VACATIONS

My friends rescued a cat. Someone had dumped the poor baby along a hiking trail, and the foster mom lamented the little guy's condition. My friends adopted the cat, fed and cared it back to health, and got him updated on all of his medical care.

Needless to say, they are ecstatic to have an animal back in their house, However, they're back in the "limited vacation" mode: No more spontaneous trips or extended time away unless the cat can come along or a reliable pet sitter can be hired. They agree, though, that it's a small price to pay to help an animal. Besides, the cat is kind of cool. He has a chill personality considering what he has been through.

I have zero interest in getting another cat. Nor a dog. Nor a parrot, iguana, hamster, snake, turtle, beta fish, or chinchilla. Sure, I could use the company, except that my need for solitude is more necessary to my survival than water. I do enjoy other people's pets. I like hanging out with my friends' new cat. I go nuts spending time with my dog-niece in Maine. I live in a complex that has its own dog park and spend way too much time petting the furry friends as they trot by.

But, people must remember that what I lack in reverence and decorum, I make up for with a wicked and cutting sense of the absurd.

While I completely appreciate and sympathize with my pet-owning pals, I cannot resist poking a bit of fun back. In the midst of an online conversation in which I've no business commenting, I simply post a picture of my pets: Scooby-Doo and a unicorn. After all, if I were to leave them unsupervised for too long, they might fly off or jump into the Mystery Machine.

Truly, I do respect pet owners and pet rescuers and pet fosters. I also enjoy being part of the crowd sometimes. When I'm alone, Scooby and Unicorn don't speak much, but they are thrilled to be part of a conversation. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to plan a vacation away from my "pets".

SERIOUS BUSINESS

Psychotic Spring.

This is where we are right now seasonally up here in New England. One day it snows; the next we are at the beach getting sunburned. Sometimes, both of these things can happen on the same day.

The most difficult part of Psychotic Spring is deciding when to change the sheets over from flannel to cotton. If the sheets are changed too soon, there are nights of freezing cold despite being covered in blankets. If the sheets remain flannel for too long, nights feel like endless hot flashes.

Don't laugh. This is serious business. 

I strip the bed today, fully intent on packing away the flannel sheets. I get out some cotton sheets, fully prepared to change over.  After all, today it is supposed to hit 82 degrees. However, I check the weather app, and I see there are 40 degree intervals headed this way, as well. I put away the cotton sheets and opt for the knit ones. These should be a good transition from iceberg to sand dune, right?

Despite the predicted temperatures, it still feels a little chilly in here, though. I don't know. Maybe if I chuck the flannel, a blizzard will hit. I mean, it's still April. This is not outside the realm of possibility. I've seen my kids play lacrosse in a May snowstorm, which had to be halted when the white ball could no longer be located on the field.

I take another look at the long-range weather forecast. 37 - 46 - 48 ... It reads like a bad Powerball draw. I glance between the sets of sheets. I'm pretty much at Eeney-Meeney-Miney-Moe at this point, but the flannel sheets have just come out of the dryer. They're so warm. They're so soft. They smell so fresh.

Dagnabbit. 

The flannel is going back on the bed for another stretch. Hopefully, this will make sure our daily temperatures soar over 60 degrees every day, and the nights will be mild enough to keep the windows cranked open.

SORRY -- MY FAULT

Sorry.

It's my fault.

I talked about the weather and mentioned the word snow.

I went to North Carolina, where Spring has sprung.

I enjoyed warmth and pollen.

I stuck my tongue out at New England.

I mentioned car washes and beach chairs.

I laughed at the weather front dropping torrential amounts of rain.

I flew through clouds and turbulence and smiled.

I had gloves and a down vest at the ready for landing back in Boston.

I kept my heat cool and the shower hot.

I pre-warmed my car every morning before work.

I basically thumbed my nose at Mother Nature this whole week.

And then -- New England woke to snow.

Not a lot of it, but enough.

Mea culpa.

It's my fault. 

Sorry.

HELPING ME SLEEP AT NIGHT

I don't sleep well.

I never have, so this is nothing new. As a kid, I suffered from bouts of insomnia and random wakefulness during the night for no apparent reason. This continued into adulthood, but I've learned to turn it to my advantage.

Rather, I've turned it into a game.

When I wake up during the night, it is rarely a semi-sleepy condition. When I wake up, I'm wide awake and raring to go, even if I've only been asleep for twenty minutes or two hours and twenty minutes. I can also hit dream-sleep within moments of falling asleep and have been known to wake up minutes later after vivid dreams or nightmares. 

I'm not sure how much actual REM sleep I get since reports claim that muscles suffer a kind of paralysis during REM. I often wake up facing a different direction or in a different position or with the quilt on the floor, or sometimes I even wake up with an arm or leg twisted wrong. Yes, I've worn knee and elbow wrap-braces to bed simply because I wake up with the upper portion of a limb facing east while the lower part of the limb faces west. At my age, this is never good.

But, here's the fun of it all. 

Whenever I wake up, I try to guess what time it is and gauge how much more (or less) sleep I can stuff into the night. Usually I'm way off. Maybe I feel exhausted but discover it's time to shut off the alarm. Or, maybe, just maybe, I'll swear it's time to get up and get my day going only to discover I still have hours left to hang out with the pillow and flannel sheets.

In the middle of a night's sleep recently, I awaken and feel that it must be close to alarm clock time. I get a good bead on how I feel -- somewhat overly tired, but feeling like I should probably get up and get ready for work. I quietly say, "If only it weren't . . ." and then I guess, "3:30 yet. I'd love to sleep some more."

I look at the clock. It's 3:29 a.m. By the time I find the camera on my phone without benefit of reading glasses, the clock shows 3:30. I resist the urge to cheer -- I have neighbors, after all. Not only do I guess the time right on the money, but I can sleep for another two-and-a-half hours. 

This is the game I play. Maybe other insomniacs play it, too, a little while after we've played the "Relax Every Muscle In Your Body, One At A Time, So You Can Maybe Fall Asleep Within An Hour" game. Or perhaps it's after a round of the "Who Thinks Counting Any Damn Thing Will Help Me Sleep" game. 

No matter. I called it at 3:29 a.m. and totally owned it. Winner! Of course, when I wake up a little later, totally unable to go back to sleep, I don't feel so smug, but for that one brief moment, I feel victorious. Sometimes that's all I need to help me sleep at night.