“MOM! Wake up!”
“James, I am going to assume that you either have an accute case of beubonic plauge, or need me to do something imparitive to your breathing, such as the heimlich manuver to be waking me up at SIX A.M.”
“Uh…Yes? No, really. It’s important.”
“What, then.”
“Wilbur and Robber are fighting in the living room over the cat food.”
“Oh, just put food in seperate places. Put Wilbur’s back in the pantry and Robber’s in the…WAIT. ROBBER? WHO exactly is “ROBBER“, praytell?”
“Ummmm…he’s sort of the big black cat I adopted, sort of.”
“Ummmm…NOT!”
“BUT he’s a really nice cat, mom! He’s freezing and hungry and he wants to live here!”
“No “Buts”. If he has been abandoned, I’ll take him to the shelter on Monday. Until then, you can put some food outside for him.”
“Do I have to take off the toasty jogging suit Christopher and I made for him? “
“I don’t even want to know. Just put him outside, ok? He probably scares Wilbur to death.”
“Ok. I’m still calling him, “Robber”, though.”
“You can call him Edwardo Sven Guitterez for all I care, just go let him out, ok?”
“K. Christopher and I will take turns herding him, ok?”
“Not until the sun is up and it’s warmer!”
“Ok, Mom. But if he expires from cold and starvation, you will have to be beholden Heavenly Father for your actions.”
“I can handle it.”
I finally get to go back to sleep. Yay! Ummm…Burrowing in the blankies feels nice. It’s a good thing Jonathan stays so warm because I am cold even in flannel P.J’s. I snuggle up next to the buried mound that is my husband and hear his muffled voice through the comforter:
“You know that Wilbur and Robber probably weren’t “Fighting” don’t you?.”
“Yes, I know, but I can’t exactly tell my 5th Grader that our cat is a complete whore, right?”
“Sometimes I hate your love for animal kind, you know.”
“I know.”
“Just making sure. “
“Thanks for that.”
“WE could have a cat fight over food if you want.”
“Go to sleep before I tell James he can keep his newfound pet.”
“Gotcha. Night!”
“Night.” 
