Sometimes, in movies, the hero is sneaking around some forest or office building (or something) when he pauses and sniffs the air. “I don’t like it,” he says. “It’s quiet… too quiet.”
My Sunday was like that. It would have made any action hero nervous.
First of all, I slept way too long. I usually tried to get up around 7 on weekdays, since it took me much longer to get properly awake and presentable than it took me to get to work. On the weekends, I tried not to let things slide too much. I knew that if I stayed in bed too long, the rest of my schedule would fall apart. I’d lose the will to get anything done.
But Bailey had woken me up so early the day before. I figured I needed a break. So I barricaded and cat-proofed my bedroom before tumbling into bed on Saturday night.
The plan worked.
In the morning, Bailey couldn’t get to me. Every time I looked at the clock, an hour or so had passed, and I still didn’t want to get up. Not only was I cozy in my bed, but I couldn’t think of any reason to leave it.
And then it was nearly the afternoon.
Once I had hauled myself out to my kitchen, I didn’t know where to start. Food? I didn’t feel hungry. Housework? I didn’t want to move. Exercise? Nope. Didn’t want to move even for that. Anyway, Laura had dragged me all over the park the day before.
Bailey prowled over and wrapped her front paws around my ankles. She knew what she wanted.
“Sorry, Bailey,” I mumbled, searching through a cupboard for her food. I felt like a crummy cat-owner. Poor Bailey trusted me, needed me, and I repaid her with—
“Ew! Gross!” Bailey had left me a present: half a cricket lay on the countertop.
The sight of that dismembered insect made me want to go back to bed. And pull the covers over my head and never come out. Action heroes don’t understand that there is no such thing as ‘too quiet.’ I was not in the mood for dealing with the casualties inflicted by my animal companion.
I fed Bailey anyway.
I didn’t want to touch the cricket, not even with a paper towel, so I wandered into my little living room, slumped on the sofa, and turned on the TV. For several hours, bright and cheerful people moved across my screen, advertising things. Grimy, beleaguered people fought crime in the intervals. I didn’t really process much of it.
You should go outside and get some sunlight, I thought, but I didn’t want to stand up.
You’re wasting your whole day.
That was silly. I’d needed the sleep, obviously, or I wouldn’t have slept so much.
Yes, but now that you’re up, you should get some sun. Remember? It helps you feel better. Supposedly.
It took a long time, but eventually I gave up. I went in search of my dressing gown, wrapped it around myself, and stepped outside, blinking in the light. I quickly sat down on the step before I could trip over some unseen obstacle and break my neck.
The sun was… quite warm. There was a breeze. I liked that. It felt like gentle fingers through my longish brown hair. I kept my eyes closed against the sun’s brightness.
A bicycle bell trilled. I opened my eyes and saw a child sailing past, wearing a pink helmet.
“Good afternoon!” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, belatedly.
I closed my eyes again, letting the sun warm me all the way through.
Reese is a fictional character who agreed to share her story on this blog. This was the third installment. Click to go back to the first – Cat Attack.