1:16 a.m, and since Bear is raising the roof with his snoring, I don't immediately flip off the television. Instead I peer at it in a lazy, glasses-half-off way, and decide that what's coming on next - Lost Tapas (must be the Food Network?) will do to lull me into sleep. The Cat Hat settles in with a low basso profundo purr, and I blearily begin to watch.
(Because you've never really slept until you've had thirty pounds of devoted kitty curling up on your hair, stomach firmly pushed to your ear. At least you've never slept at my house.)
Eyes knocking sideways, beginning to yawn 0 maybe I won't see any new recipes then? and....
The person on the tv begins to talk about large dead things. Things with wings and claws.
And much blood. And screaming. This is the strangest cooking show I've ever seen!
Suddenly, it's 2 a.m. and my insomnia is beginning to make sense.
I like tapas. 'Twas a shame.