Crash in the Night

That middle of the night crash that jars you out of a hard-fought sleep. Burglars, your mind thinks. Intruders. Space invaders. As consciousness returns, you realize it was the metallic clatter of a Tiny-toppled cat food bowl. But since the noise didn't rouse any other human household members, you snuggle back into your cocoon and try try try to get back asleep again. You have a rare success. The crunch of kibble underfoot becomes someone else's morning discovery.

Later that morning, the thundercats, Fifi and Tiny, are busy tearing up and down the stairs, running laps around the couch, teasing the curtains behind the TV.

Like this.

Homer wonders why they are so busy. He takes his leisurely morning security patrol around the premises, then settles in near the coffee cup for the first of many morning naps. 

UPDATE:  Thank you, Common Household Mom, for this:

The Cats

by Ann Iverson

To find such glory in a dehydrated pea
on the tile between the stove and fridge.

To toss the needs of others aside
when you simply aren't in the mood for affection.

To find yourselves so irresistible.

And always in a small spot of sun,
you sprawl and spread out the pleasure of yourselves

never fretting, never wanting to go back
to erase your few decisions.

To find yourself so remarkable
all the day long.

"The Cats" by Ann Iverson from Come Now to the Window. © Laurel Poetry Collective, 2003. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)