Thursday night, I stayed up too late. (Oh, shush! I know!)

I had probably just dozed off, curled up around Rudi, when I heard Jeremiah trilling at me from my side of the bed. It was not his normal trill, but I figure that he wants to curl up and is disgruntled that I’m in his spot. He frequently trills and has been known to mix it up.

I woke up enough to say, “Okay, sweetie. Lie down.” I patted the pillow above my head.

I heard a tap on my pillow.

I do not know what deeply seated natural instinct made me think, That’s not right.

But the next thing I know, I’ve let out a loud “Eep!” (Rudi, whom I awoke with it, assures me it was not an “Eek!”)

Jeremiah had dropped a cockroach on my pillow.

Now awake, I turn on the light, carefully grab the pillow and carry it to the bathroom where I groggily attempt to flick the cockroach into the toilet. I fail and we both scuttle off to our respective corners to nurse our injuries — real or imagined.

I mean, I’m glad that Jeremiah hunts bugs down. But did he really need to share it with me? And in the early hours of the morning?

Gah!

(Welcome to Monday, folks!)