when i called my mother yesterday i’d woken her up from a nap. her mind was bleary and her responses were often ill-formed. they say that being sleep-deprived is like being drunk. mom was smashed.

i told her about my kitten, and how she has a tendency to get underfoot; about how when i walked into my apartment this evening, she rolled belly up right under my shoe as i was mid-stride, and if i hadn’t caught myself i would accidentally have stomped her skull.

“ewwWWWWW,” my mother slurred, half-awake. “then… you would have to… get a shovel.”