This morning, I was informed by Tony that I am a blanket-stealer. No big surprise there. I know that. But I am not responsible for my nocturnal actions. I am only as responsible as a bearer of morning wood is for that affliction. So I kept putting my makeup on and said, “OK”. Tony apparently agrees with my nolo contendere plea, because he didn’t ask me the biggest, silliest question in the world, which I was fully prepared to answer with scoffs and dismay, the question of Why. He instead continued to explain how he tried to remedy this problem to the benefit of us both, which left me with a distinct “I love this man” feeling.

Apparently I took all the covers off of him because I laid on my share. And Salju laid on a portion of his, and as many cat owners know, Salju gets squatters rights on whatever percentage of the bed she is currently occupying. She is not at all a small cat, nor is she a very bright cat, apparently, for as Tony tugged the blankets (no doubt gently) from beneath her, she fell off the bed.

Salju falling off the bed produces a fluffy but resounding thud, never a quiet noise, as I believe her physiology does not allow for the swift flip that skinnier, more agile cats can accomplish. Furthermore, she is not quite capable of realizing that the flip is even possible, and I can just see the look of utter confusion on her face, eyes wide, ears flat back, as she slides inevitably off the bed, slowly at first, but with growing speed and momentum. I didn’t need to actually see it or hear it to appreciate the hilarity of that moment.

And apparently the physical properties of a blanket differ beneath cats. Cats are like blanket black holes, or super powerful blanket electromagnets. The location a cat chooses to settle will have the highest density of blanket material beneath them, and consequently the most valuable area of the blanket will be smack under their furry ass. The feline version of Murphy’s Law states that wherever the cat lays down will be the most inconvenient place a cat could possibly lay. So the kinder, gentler cat owner in you accepts fate, and tries to bend around the cat, accepting whatever tiny corner scrap of blanket is left from beneath your 3-5 cats. Perhaps you even pull a pillowcase off a pillow for warmth, because, you know, who is going to move the cat? Now, I haven’t actually done this (yah) but, you know, I could…

If the living blanket-weight decides to move, you can finally relax and reclaim your half of the bed. If a foot not-so-accidentally placed under their tummy happens to encourage this move, all the better.

Or you tug the blankets, and the clumsiest cat to ever walk the Earth will fall off backwards with a look of shock and betrayal, to land on the cold hard carpet with a neighbor-waking thud. Go Tony.