And in my half-sleep (something I'm capable of due to my severe sleep-apnea, light narcolepsy, and multiple medications), a very small and proper man wearing a white fur coat and a feathered white fedora climbed over the heaps and mounds of various quilts and duvets on the foot of my bed. Because my legs are elevated on a fancy orthopedic cushion in order to elevate my legs thirteen inches above my heart while I sleep, and also because my wife has rich gold Spanish blood in her veins and requires many quilts and coverings the moment the temperature drops below 75 degrees fahrenheit (and because I invariably toss layers of these off of my legs), it also looked like a very large and white pigeon was exploring the fabric-y dunes on the bed around my feet. I woke up to realize, the cockatoo had escaped his escape-proof cage. Again.
I think I'm awake for the morning. He's back into his cage now. The wife is in the shower. I'm dying for Panera, but with a house full of infected people, I'll be lucky to get a bowl of lucky charms. I'm going to watch the Milagro Bean Field War on Netflix while I contemplate the bird who escapes only to find me in bed somewhere, and cuddle in next to me.