Sometime in the wee dark hours filled with lightning, thunder and rain, Ozzie transformed himself six sizes smaller, wiggled under the barricades I had fashioned, squeezed himself into the 9" space behind the headboard and popped the air hose to the bed.
In the midst of a blessedly deep sleep, I dreamt that I was sinking, sinking...
I feel for his terror. I am sympathetic while he is shaking uncontrollably and drooling with anxiety. But when he messes with my sleep, I have no mercy. I dragged him out of his hidey-hole (accompanied by much whimpering and yelping), shoved him out of the bedroom and slammed the door.
Perched on the other side of the bed (the cavernous pit looming below and to the left), I went back to sleep.
Now I have to figure out how to re-attach the hose. If Ozzie were Lassie, I could just get him to crawl under there again and do it for me. Instead, I have to disassemble the frame and do it myself.
Not a great way to start the day...
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