Frank Sinatra sang it way before my time, but the Fuzz ball was certainly snarling it last night. Sometime in the wee hours, I stretched my legs full length, only to run into...a hot mass of fur. I did not like it. I nudged--no movement. I nudged harder--still no movement. I then purposefully poked my foot at him and got a little nip in return. So, I told old man cat to GET OFF MY BED while giving him a good sized shove. To use Nephi's terminology, he was obliged to leave his warm spot at the foot of the bed and find a more hospitable environment.
On the other hand, my red headed daughter-in-law invited me to feel her expectant tummy this evening. When I placed my palm down firmly on it, I was rewarded with a couple of quick little kicks. I liked those, but her baby didn't appreciate me. He/She quickly retreated to a less threatening place closer to her backbone. Somewhere in my imagination, I'm pretty sure I heard an in-utero grandchild saying, GET OFF MY BED!
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