So the other day I woke from a deep, deep sleep in my most recent favorite spot under the bed, went into a massive stretch, then crawled out into the daylight to find that nothing had happened. I walked over to my food and water dishes, as I always do, and there was nothing different, nothing exciting happening.
Sometimes, something will happen- I'll hear a noise, smell something interesting, catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Occasionally mom will be doing something that grabs my attention. I didn't climb up on the back of the rocker to see anything out the front window. I didn't peer around any corners, poke into any closets, or check out the backside of the tv, toilet, or waste basket.
There were no bugs scurrying across the carpet, no birds singing outside, no string hanging from anywhere for me to play with. Nothing. It was as if I fell asleep here on Earth and awoke on planet Boring. After accepting the fact that absolutely nothing was happening worth writing about, I returned to my spot under the bed and went right back to sleep, hoping that when I woke again there would be a vicious thunderstorm, complete with jagged bolts of lightening dancing right outside the windows, ominous gray-green swirling clouds and a crescendo of eerie violin music, big, scary monsters would be tearing the front door off its hinges, mom and dad would be jello wrestling in the bathtub, dressed in each others' clothes, the furniture would be circling the living room, mid-air, or something. Anything. Oh well. Goodnight.