Husband Charlie caught the summer cold (or whatever) that I had last week. He was up all night coughing and sniffling and nose blowing and tossing and turning. Of course I felt bad for him, because I was pretty miserable when I was going through it, but around midnight I was starting to get irritated with my sleepytime being constantly interrupted and by 3AM I was downright stabby. He went to the bathroom to get more tissues, and I picked up my pillow and retreated to the Room of Requirement, hoping to get a solid 2 hours in before the alarm went off.
A few minutes after my head hit the pillow, I started hearing scratching noises and meowing coming from downstairs. Darwin had managed to get himself locked in the laundry room. Rather than having to listen to the whining, I took pity on him and let him out. He repaid me by attacking and biting my feet and knocking things off the table and windowsill for the next hour.
I wish that we had designated naptimes throughout the day.