Exiled

It's a once-every-few-years thing for me - A nice, lingering cold deep in my chest, with random attempts at turning into a sinus infection. Like now. Well, I'm aware, and atop things, and know how to treat it, but it takes a while to shake, and in the meanwhile I tend to hack and cough... Well, vigorously. Especially at night. So my wife has exiled me downstairs, that she may get some sleep. Since this puts me either in my recliner or on the couch, it's probably better for me anyway; I can sleep at a slightly upright angle, which lessens the middle-of-the-night choking on phlegm I might otherwise be facing at odd intervals.

I know; "Ewwww, yuck. You poor thing, but what the hell does this have to do with Suka?" Well, I may've mentioned that Suka is a very good dog, yes? She doesn't camp on our bed, not even when invited - She'll climb up for a couple minutes, but gets worried, and jumps down again presently - She's keenly aware that the bed is Not Hers. BUT - The couch, when I'm sleeping on it? That's a NEST!

Suka has taken to climbing up to the back of the sofa, and laying down in the gap where I've re-located a cushion to make myself comfortable. It's a perfect Suka-sized gap, and no sooner than I lay down, than she'll fly over the top of me in a graceful bound, and drop into what has become her favored sleeping spot. At least whilst I'm sick, that is. leaping into place like that often precedes my pulling a blanket up, and Suka often winds up wrapped up with me. So, most mornings, these last two weeks, my wife has come downstairs to find me sacked out, and a furry face peeking out from under the far side of the covers, looking over my ribs.

I really must replace my camera.