I've scrubbed
and swished
and wiped down
and put up
and straightened
and folded
and stashed
and vacuumed--
the last of which drove Zach the Cat
from his comfortable corner on the sofa
to a hidey-hole in the house.
It's 12:04 now on Friday morning.
I'm hours away from getting up to go to work.
I really should be in bed,
and Zach really should be right next to me.
Instead I'm here at the computer and he's somewhere.
Sometimes things just have to get done
no matter sleep, the cat, or the calling of the sofa.
The place is cleaner for sure. Finally.
