Couch Potatoes: How We Nap #SOLSC24 15/31

We days lie around hibernating in semi-conscious awareness some days.

MSNBC Deadline White House talking heads hold the attention of a partially opened eye—mine—while my right hand rests on the remote, ready to fast-forward through myriad medical sales pitches.

I’m napping—sort of—on my ginormous hugger couch, but I’m not alone. Stanley Tucci, our stinky dog, nestles his body near my back. Sometimes his furry fanny gets close to my face and leaks methane I involuntarily sniff.

Most days Snug hides behind the hugger near my husband’s office, but Thursday afternoon he has other ideas. His doggie sense notices sunshine streaming through the windows, and he must have noticed warmer weather when he ventured into the yard. He wants to go! But it’s not time. Children are at school using Snug’s and Stanley’s *doggie park* as a playground.

Snug napping

Snug barks. Snug jumps. He smacks his dad’s legs with his paws and paces back to his napping spot. He has accepted it’s not time yet.

Hero, our tuxedo cat, indulges in a midday nap in her bed upstairs away from the dogs and Luna, the crazy cat interloper.

Hero in her bed.

Even Luna—a cat who often frightens Stanley, loves creating a racket, and makes me wonder what she has destroyed—is hiding upstairs in my son’s old room, cat napping.

Luna likes napping in my sink.

Soon Ken will commence snoring from his end of the couch. Maybe I’ll ask him if he’s awake.

Ken sitting in Ketchum (Sun Valley), Idaho.

In fifteen minutes I’ll leave for my massage appointment. I think I’ll rest up for the drive.

I set my phone’s timer at ten minutes, curl my legs into a fetal position, place my head on my faux mink throw, and close my eyes.

Napping prep requires intention and effort.

This is Thursday, and I am tired.

*Featured Image: Stanley on my faux mink throw.