Nocturnal Antics at the House that Rocks.

Michael's dreams are somewhat legendary.  Some nights I just get annoyed, particularly if I'm woken by him on multiple occasions. He has the extraordinary knack of returning to the same dream and continuing on. The funniest part is when he looks at me with blank confusion in the morning when I regale his latest imaginary adventures. Occasionally, he will have some memory of his dreams and will look suitably appalled and amused at the same time.

The dream featuring the cat, the toast and her suitcase was an absolute corker. I was sure that would be difficult to emulate. I was wrong.

Last night, I was totally shattered and I went to bed at the unusually early hour of nine-thirty. Michael stayed up to watch "Salt". The night was cool so I threw the doona on the bed. I was startled out of a deep sleep the first time when a human ice cube climbed under the covers next to me. What else could I do? I draped my limbs all over him until he thawed and we both fell blissfully asleep.

I woke some time later to see Michael pointing at the ceiling and making buzzing noises...ET phone home? Actually no. Upon demands for an explanation, he explained he was turning the TV off. On the ceiling. Needless to say, he rejected the notion that we were actually in bed and he was not a remote control...

This pointing and buzzing went on for quite a while. Eventually, I convinced him that the TV was off and that he was no longer required to silence it. With a loud sigh of exasperation, Michael turned on his side and farted in my general direction.

This morning, I believe he may have had a tiny glimpse of remembrance.  He did not deny my recount of events and even looked slightly embarrassed.

He then asked me if Madame Cat had been in her usual spot next to him on our bed. I replied in the affirmative. That was all the ammunition he needed...

"The Cat made me do it!"

the Fickle Fairweather Feline...

Michael and his mistress in bed...

 The ultimate excuse!