The Titanic Trio Episode Two

Ten am through noon is often naptime for my three caped crusaders, which is very important for those of us who are not upstairs reading in the sunshine, like my sweet Sven.
I am not sure if the reason I come in to my room to write at ten o'clock is because it is super hero naptime or if it is super hero naptime because I come in here to write at ten o'clock. Perhaps it is just because this is where I have been trying to get ever since I got out of bed.
After slipping a rug under Bark Man for better traction assistance, he follows me down the hall to sleep with one eye open right behind my chair, underneath my feet or in front of the open door. He is very protective and quite a loud snorer. Definitely a CPAP candidate, but the dude has sucky insurance and is basically an opioid addict who has enough to worry about with his supply being cut off.

Cat Lady is unaware of any particular nap time. This is because she is quite old, as in real, and has an unpredictable schedule. This is of course not her fault. She would appreciate life to be more orderly. She prefers prompt service and finds today's youth to be disrespectful, which is understandable as the only youth of today she is aware of is Tuxedo Boy and he is more likely to try to beat the shit out of her than offer her his seat on the bus. But because of her age she is able to sleep most anytime, especially if she is in her heated bed or on her plush sofa in her cat cave. That is why ten am is not out of the question.

Tuxedo Boy is out cold after all the commotion he has already caused this morning not to mention his nocturnal bullshit.
Sometimes he grabs a little shut eye here in the office in the box on top of my desk. Sometimes it is where I find him already curled up and sometimes it is where I place him because I do not fit in the box on top of my desk and he is asleep on my chair. Other times he chooses to go back to our bed, just in case I might consider making it. And then there is always the loft, the filing cabinet, a kitchen stool, the couch, any closet and or under the dining room table.
Today however Tuxedo Boy was last seen by my sweet Sven in the basket of towels in the bathroom. That is one of his favorite spots despite all the flushing.

Somewhere between ten and noon is also the time of day that my sweet Sven hollers from the other room, "I am going to run to town."
And I holler back, "Okay."
In other words, it is an I, me, Millie Noe, moment, like back in the day when I was but a young mother and the children were asleep and the husband was out of the house. I would joyously pick up the toys, rinse the dishes, fold the laundry, sweep the floor and then sink into the couch cushion with my novel in hand and glee in my heart.
I never did figure out that I should start with the book, hence my illiteracy.
Like every mom knows, as soon as you get to a sentence you haven't already read six times, your you, you, whoever you are moment, is over.
My fantastic news is that after all these sixty-four years of soul searching I have finally found something that I am really good at.
Some people call it retirement.
I call it living.
These days my life is full of I, me, Millie Noe moments.
It is just that they are completely and utterly dictated by The Titanic Trio, the super heroes who are sure to sink my ship.
But right now they are all napping.


For more stories in this crime fighting series, click above on Titanic Trio.

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