I'm working on a theory. It began to form in this morning's yellow dawn. You know the one I mean - when the sky is all a pale shade of yellow, filtered by high clouds. No cool orange or pink, just that weird golden glowing yellow. Maybe it was the sleepiness, maybe it was the glowing atmosphere, maybe it was just the extreme relief of making it to the bathroom just in time.
I think that my cat is stealing my gravity.
I had a bad day two days ago. It was hard to walk. My specific and personal gravity seemed about 20% higher than normal, which was just enough to throw me over the edge. Everything ached, and any position other than prone on the couch was nearly impossible. Okay, so I'd worked 15 hours already by that point. I didn't do anything different than normal - only one or two trips out to production during the day, not the 5 or 6 that can really lay me low on a busy day. So there I was, lying on the couch, trying to get up enough energy and reverse this gravity increase enough to go upstairs to bed. Generally, Max, my Maine Coon cat, will jump up, and lay himself out on me full length. He doesn't sit in laps - absolutely refuses. But if I'm lying down, he plasters himself, from my knee to mid-chest, stretched out, and happy. Night before last, he just looked at me when I invited him up. Odd. I never did go upstairs that night, I ended up staying on the couch, because it was, frankly, just so much easier.
Yesterday, I was fine, mostly. Gravity was back to normal, I didn't ache, and I was movin' pretty well for an old gal with crunchy knees. I could still feel the residuals of the gravity increase from the day before. I knew that at any time, things could reverse, and I'd be right back where I was.
So that brings us to today, and you're probably wondering why I think that Max is stealing my gravity. This morning, I hobbled down the stairs to use the bathroom. I hate the one upstairs - it was built under the eaves of the house, and it's TINY! This morning it was a race whether gravity was going to win, or I was. As I passed the window in the pantry, I saw Max stretched out full length, standing at the window to let me know he'd endured the indignity of spending the night outside, and that I should let him in immediately. Too bad, cat, gravity's taking over, I'll get you in a minute when I'm finished!
Now, I have this bad habit I should mention. I tend to not close the bathroom door all the way when I know that no one's around. I dunno, it's just something dumb I do. Hubby's upstairs sound asleep, and won't be up for another hour. Son's in his room, sound asleep, and believe me, nothing will get him up until sometime after 10 a.m. this morning. So I'm essentially alone in the house, or so it feels. The cats always take advantage of this opportunity of open door and sitting person to come and greet me, and say good morning. Remember, Max is a Maine Coon cat, so yes, he really does say good morning. Real words - honest. Just ask Cane - she'll tell you.
In comes Tessa the kitten to say her good mornings. She rubs against my legs, arches her tail way forward, receives her pats, and then she wanders off to see if there's any water dripping in the shower she can play with. In comes Max, who stalks into the room, rubs against my legs, and rather than saying good morning as is his usual, just gives me a backwards glare as he struts out of the room.
Wait.
Max is outside. I left him at the pantry window, with promises that I'd let him in in a minute. It's been less than that. There's no way to get in the house, no open windows without screens. Hubby's still upstairs - I'd hear it if he'd gotten up. Son's still in his room, sound asleep. There's no one else in the house. If there was a way in, Max would have used it before, instead of standing at the window demanding that I let him in.
Damn cat. He must have stolen my gravity the other day, and used it to get in the house this morning. And this time, he let me see it, just to taunt me.
Where's my Heinlein books?
