Friday the 13th.
Beware of black cats, broken mirrors, stepping on cracks, yada yada yada.
In the past, this day has been pretty lucky for me, or at least not unlucky as it’s believed to be. Maybe it’s because you walk around and somewhere deep in your subconscious, even if you don’t buy into the hype, you’re looking for bad things to happen. It’s kind of thrilling to believe the superstition, it makes the world seem a little less black and white. This is the exact reason I also fully believe there are ghosts in this world. It adds a layer of mystery to life, like there is something more than just the average day to day.
But back to luck.
Today started off not so lucky. Henry, as per usual, began waking me up around 4am. It usually starts with a couple low whines from his bed that progressively grow louder. I tell him to be quiet and try my hardest to go back to sleep, but as soon as I drift off the whines start again. Then the little *clomp clomp* of his paws as he tries to jump up on the bed right by my face.
This is a common occurrence with Henry and I. For some reason, no matter what time of day or night, he does not like me to sleep. Most likely it’s some sort of pack mentality thing where he sees me as the leader who needs to watch over everyone and he doesn’t feel safe if I’m asleep. But I like to think that before we rescued him he was training to be one of those dogs who can sense narcoleptic fits, yet he couldn’t quite get it right and therefore goes into alert mode when someone falls asleep normally. That second theory suits his personality so well. He’s an odd, nervous little man who tries so hard to be good but can never actually succeed. He likes trouble too much.
The anger and annoyance I feel through my sleep deprivation during these fun late night/early morning exchanges of ours is palpable…until…I look down and see this face looking up at me.
He’s lucky he’s so damn cute.