often at night

when i am hungry, and can't sleep, when the cat snuggles annoyingly close, when she has conquered and seized the new blanket as though it belonged to france (from the french, cat point of view)

this is when i won't even bother reclaiming lost territory, but simply get up and relish those lovely pre-cooked morsels i have dispatched to the icebox for such very times exactly. per example: cat had not only invaded the alsace, as it were, but had begun to claw her way into the rhineland palatinate. unlike the kaiser, off i went to the kitchen, bleary-eyed, but ready to fight back for my province. 

in this case i dispatched briefly half a center-cut porkchop done up with juniper berries, some wonderfully buttery tasting, alas 'butter' beans, and as an aside some elderly rainier bings. as predicted and as is well known in that land my side of the rhine, 'c', as in cat stands for curiosity. it is certainly that cat's middle initial. 'sweet-pie' during the day, she goes by 'trouble' at night. and here she is. feather wagging her tail and brushing in that coy, that french way round my ankles. did i care? i was done with my late night snack. i beat her upstairs to the very disputed blanket and was under wraps, kaiser and all, and asleep, before her catty, her french tuned, chirping meow would begin the battle of the fleece all over again.