Sleep, Thou Elusive Elf, Where Are You?

The brain has been clicking on at 4 a.m. into a Hi There! awakeness that causes lax judgement and naps later in the day.  I dislike naps, what a waste of daylight and afterwards I still stagger about in a thick-headed stupor.  Better to plunge on, and make myself get through the hours but lord, I am tired.  After my fighting with not sleeping, the cats come in with breakfast requests and since they dislike each other for the most part, belt whomever is within slapping distance.  I become an airport take-off launch site when they run me over in their pissed-offedness.

I have been getting the place ready for the sometimes annual apartment inspection, mostly done for checking smoke alarms.  Some managements want windows washed, others look for snuck in extra appliances such as a dishwasher, freezer or air conditioner; too many people, pets, or boxes of stuff will get you a checked box in the troublemaker column.  It depends if the folks inspecting are the maintenance crew, who care less about anything but the alarms and drippy faucets; or management from the office, who rate their job security by the number of infractions reported.  I hold my breath in hopes that a few of the cats hide; I wait, fiddling by organizing files on the laptop.

Right at five minutes after the alloted time, a very tall lady is at my door with a clipboard; she is gracious and asks me to show her that my stove will turn on.  Most of the cats did not take off, three are visible if you look hard, for they are sleeping.  It's the ambassador that surprises me, the Tasmanian Twitch, Stevie.  He walks his big self up to the lady and looks up expectantly, I shoo him, he comes back, I shove him, he returns, apparently in love.  "I'm a dog person, mostly," says the inspector lady and Steve body blocks her by plopping down at her feet, a large barrier of anticipation.

This is the cat who drew blood on one vet and two technicians the last time we visited for his annual check-up.  Declawed in an earlier life, he has the speed and mercy of a cobra, and uses his fangs for random destruction of human life, especially the human who wants to give him a shot or check his liver with a tummy squish.  Now, he is Mr. Personality educated by charm school, and goes limp when I try to drag him off to the side.  She steps over and asks how many cats do I have?  Three, I have three (five).
Two of the others are sleeping in the living area, one in a box and Min up on her shelf; the other two have spirited themselves away--Tulip will never visit with people, yet I am surprised that Kai, who usually comes out tail up, is hiding also.  My stomach crosses its fingers, hoping they stay put.

I need three smoke alarms and a faucet tightened, the rest looks good, she says,  Whew, hoping that this is goodbye, I soon find it ain't.  She loves plants and asks if I would mind giving her a clump of the sansevieria when I divide it.  Sure sure, thank you sooo much g'wan get outta here, I feel luck is being pushed regarding the cat population, and want. her. to. go.  However, she shows me why she has a job that is mostly talking to people, for I hear about her daughter's dog, her own  plants, oh look another kitty (Min on her shelf) (yes she's my oldest), and the inspector wonders is it 3 years or 4 for every human year and how old would that be?  Go, go on, get the hell out of my apartment, lady.

I step out of her way and turn towards the door, but she doesn't move.  The creeping suspicion that maybe she is stalling to see if any other cat comes out raises a small warning cry, for who else would have four cat boxes except for someone who has five cats?  I'll bring you those plants and some clippings down to the office Monday I say as casually as I can, and thank heavens, her one leg moves forward in the direction of Out.  The other leg co-operates, follows through with a full swing but then she pivots back at the open door.  I know an extended version of goodbye is gonna pour forth.  It does, but not as long as I expect, thank you thank you, close and turn that lock.

Now I am beginning to feel the past few night's lack of sleep, and have stopped the caffeinated tea by four o'clock.  What a comfy night, it feels so good to have passed inspection and the adrenalin is ebbing back to a long ways from shore.  The cats are all out, curling after their dinner into balls of snooze, and I am tapping here on the keyboard in grateful stasis.  Now I can turn back to drawing, and plan on hitting up the art store tomorrow for glassine paper to protect the pastel works in progress.  Strong winds are causing the building to sway, told by the ornament hanging from one cupboard door handle for it sways and hits the door, ringing metallic like a faraway bell.

You sleep well for me, if I don't.  I lay awake and think of things like x-rays, what if the building could be x-rayed while we slept, revealing scores of horizontal skeletons stratified in rising layers up to the occupants of the top floor, how fascinating that would look.  We would see our bone structures rising, walking in space, doing routines invisible except for our white, ghostly skeletons going through the motions.  My skeleton will soon be laying flat, surrounded by three plus two cat skeletons while fishy skeletons swim in their tank.  Tomorrow I shall turn back into a true human; tonight I rattle and writhe in ossified happiness.  Good night, sleep peacefully, you passed.




Maintenance will come by when I am at work, and because they are men with noisy, bangy tools, I know most everyone will duck and cover.