I am wrapped around a body pillow. Tweak leaps onto my back from what feels like the top of a cliff.

Tweak: “WHY ARE YOU STILL IN BED?!?”

Her cannonball knocks the air out of my lungs. My eyes pop open. The clock is a Stephen King clown.

Me: “Good grief, Tweak. It’s only 6:08. I’ve slept for eight extra minutes.”

Tweak: “Do you know how much damage I can do in eight minutes?”

Me: “To what – your sleep study?”

Tweak chews my hair.

Me: “Besides, it’s my day off.”

Tweak: “Off?? As opposed to…?”

I roll over, not gently. Tweak’s claws are still hooked to the quilt and she plops sideways on the mattress like a balloon full of potato salad.

I chortle before I can stop myself and she extracts vengeance by raking a claw down my back.

Me: “OW!”

Tweak: “We. Don’t. Chortle.”

She rearranges her dignity and sits beside me, curling her feet under herself like a breakfast loaf.

Tweak: “So, what are you doing on your day off?”

Me: “I’m not sure yet. What do YOU usually do?”

Tweak: “HAHA!! Good one.”

I reach for my phone on the night stand and pull up a list called “Things to Do When I Have Eight Damn Minutes.” The last item is: “Don’t take any more shit.” I close the phone and set it on the pillow next to me. Tweak crawls on top of it.

Tweak: “I’m on the list. HAHA!”

I roll my eyes so hard they rattle. The commotion summons a ruiner.

Bowie bursts into the room, the Kramer of dogs.

Bowie: “Hey! You guys having fun in here without me?”

Bowie-dog’s happy tongue smiles and she paws the pillow, a kind of dog fist-bump. Tweak dives off and digs a nail into my thigh. My phone crashes to the floor.

Me: “ENOUGH! Time to tackle that list.”

Bowie: “List? I want to be on a list!”

Tweak: “Oh, you are.”

 

1 August 2014, “Tolerating Tweak”