This is night two of operation KCOOMR (Keep Cats Out Of My Room). I'm conducting some informal allergy tests. If I thoroughy wash my bedding, clean my room and keep the cats out, will I still wake up stuffy?
This morning, after the first night, the answer was Yes, I will still wake up with the need to honk snot out my nose. (And I mean literally honk.)
A difficult night was had by all. As I tried to fall asleep, unaccustomed as I was to not having little bodies nestled against my legs or sides, Arais—not even MY cat—meowed, nay, croaked obnoxiously at my door. He threw his solid body against the door. I had to open up and scare him off.
All was well until I stirred at 2 a.m., deliriously convinced there was a cat coup rising. I would be ousted from the bed and forced to sleep while balancing perilously on the back of a chair. Turns out the imagined cat coup was only a drunk dial that half-roused me from sleep.
At four a.m., I woke up to use the facilities. Outside my door, Delaney huddled in the corner like an urchin. I swear I saw her shiver dramatically. And I know I heard her purring songs from Oliver Twist.
Tonight I girded myself against their collective cuteness, repeated affirmations of my self-worth regardless of feline bed fellows and shut them out once again.
In truth, I don't know why I am conducting this experiment. Regardless of the outcome—whether it means I'll sneeze up a storm, I will once again invite the cats into my room, be beholden again to the lint roller and warrant once more the "cat lady" label.