To Sleep or Not to Sleep

Gizmo in the sink!

My husband is a human alarm clock. It doesn’t matter how much sleep he’s had or not had, he is up every morning and in the shower by 5:00. He’s quiet so I can sleep because he knows I’ve been up several times during the night keeping an eye on Mr. Insomnia (Charley), who often roams the floor while the rest of the world is sleeping (he has no concept of time, only that either the sun is out or it’s dark). 

Sometimes he lands on the couch with all the lights on, but most times he sits on his bed watching his TV pausing only to make his occasional trek to the refrigerator to swipe the milk or to see what’s in there, as if anything has changed.

Living with an insomniac has become a way of life for me, and it’s no big deal to have to get up, go to his room and tell him to turn the volume down on his TV or his radio.

This morning, Brad slept a little longer than usual and I was the one up at 5:00. Charley was asleep. I headed to the little girls room and thought about writing for a couple of hours while it was quiet, which is a rarity in our house. 

Call me an undisciplined writer if you want, but back to bed I went. I have to admit that I tossed and turned, trying to turn off my brain so I could fall back asleep.

But just as my eyes finally shut and the sand man came calling, I heard a familiar sound. It was Gizmo (our cat). Not now, Gizmo. At first I dismissed it. Perhaps it was Charley’s television. Or, maybe not. Just go away and let me sleep. Or, not, because he turned up the volume. “Meow. Me-ow. MEOW.” Like, “Help! Help!” My feet hit the floor and back to the bathroom I went.

“Come on, Gizmo,” I said, and started to open the bathroom door. And that would have been the end of that, except for one thing. Gizmo had managed to reach down under the sink and open the drawer, blocking the door, which left no wiggle room – half an inch at the most. Gizmo was trapped.

Back to the bedroom I went, to get Mr. Alarm Clock. “He must have followed you into the bathroom,” Brad said, slamming his body into the door. 

Plan B. Get the backscratcher. Maybe we could use it to close the drawer. New problem: not enough room to insert the stick and no leverage. 

Plan C. Grab a coat hanger and twist it to make a hook. New problem: Brad twisted the hook but it broke off in his hand. 

Plan C, continued. Get another coat hanger, only, this time don’t twist the top off. Bend it, turn the hook just so, and voila, you’re everybody’s hero. Except for one thing; it didn’t work. 

Plan D. Fuss at each other.

“If you had looked behind you, you’d have seen the cat.”

“If you hadn’t put Charley’s medicine in the bathroom cabinet, we wouldn’t be in such a frenzy to get them out.” (Had we forgotten about Gizmo?).

“If you…”

Gizmo chimed in, “Meow.”

Plan E. Stick a knitting needle through the hole in the lock on the door. Somehow Brad was able to slide the drawer closed and Gizmo went flying into the hallway and ran off.

Well, we were both up, so let the coffee begin.

Meanwhile, Mr. Insomnia was busy cutting Z’s.