Pillow talk

I am awakened from a deep and surprisingly good, dreamless sleep. That in itself is unusual, but more unsettling is the feeling that I am sharing my bedroom with someone other than my husband, and that is not a good thing. I tense my neck on the pillow, trying to pretend to be sound asleep, and hoping that the intruder will leave. I hear rustles, a swish, and I squint across the bed to the green glow of the alarm clock, 4:00 am, who would be breaking in at 4:00 am? Then suddenly behind my head, between me and the headboard, the pillow depresses, as tiny paws walk from one side of the bed to the other. There is a meow, and I realize that Bootsie has woken up, and this is his way of telling us he would like to vacate the premises. I prod Gar to get up, open the patio door and let Bootsie outside, it is 4:04 am. Dark, no light, no birds, just the call of nature, and one very relieved kitty. Gar comes back to bed, and I forget to mention to him that he should have closed the door completely, not leaving it open a small amount, thus allowing Bootsie to return. Too late, Gar is back asleep on his pillow dreaming of good things. I fall asleep also. 4:57 am, we are again woken up by small paws parading across our pillows again, and another set of meows between our sleepy heads, Bootsie is back, and determined to be fed. After all, he is wide awake, what's our problem. There are not even sea gulls screeching yet, or birds warbling outside. It is still semi dark. I mumble at Gar that if he feeds this cat at 5:00 am he will start a new precedence for early morning food calls. Our overnight guest was uninvited, but looked so comfortable sleeping on my best throw, the one I said he could never use, that we did not have the heart to throw him out. It was late, he had not done his usual act of disappearing with the evening light, and he was too cute for words laying there, with one eye watching as living room curtains were closed. We, however paid the price for being good hosts, a early morning wake up call, delivered right to our bedroom in person. No scratching on the window from the potting bench, this time he could wake us up and get fed in one easy stretch. Or at least that is what he thought. With a disgusted meow, he wandered off to find his ever present bowl of crunchies, and waited us out until Gar got up at 6, and fed him. And all he left us was dirty paw prints on the pillow.