This morning was not better. Not at all.
In fact, it was worse because Toby was well-rested this time. After going to bed with Jerry at 7 p.m., he was raring to go at 3 a.m. It was party time. I have a feeling he would've been leading the kegger if he had opposable thumbs and could wield a tap.
Hoping to prevent Toby from using my face as a springboard to leap to the floor repeatedly as he tried to decide between hanging out with Jerry or curling up with me, I asked Jer to close the bedroom door, not giving him an option.
So when the back door slammed, alerting Toby to Jerry's departure, his little heart broke. His world crumbled. It was dark. He was wired. And his play buddy had just walked out.
I, on the other hand, was exhausted. After practically no sleep the night before and a really late night at work, I was dead on my feet. I had climbed into bed a mere 30 minutes before Jerry got up and wanted nothing more than to go back to the blissful dream I was having about getting a full night's rest.
But Toby was beside himself. You would've thought we had just broken all his limbs and placed his favorite flavor of pig ear just out of reach. Unable to stop himself from expressing his absolute displeasure, Toby hopped down on the floor, rolled on his back and howled.
I tried being the good cop first, sympathising with his confusion and anxiety. I can't imagine a life-changing experience without having any prior knowledge or time to process the information before getting thrown into it unexpectedly. So I called him up onto the bed in my "Hey! This is great!" voice.
But when Toby is upset, his hind legs seize up and refuse to work. It's as if his brain uses all of its neurological power to concentrate on his feelings and can't manifest any physical strength. So he ends up lethargically flinging his body against the side of the bed in a pathetic attempt of getting my attention. If he was a teenager, he would be the worst kind of emo. One who wears cheap eyeliner and picks at his chipping black nail polish, hoping the world simultaneously notices him and ignores him at the same time.
After what seemed like a 20 minute-long temper tantrum, bad cop officially took over.
"TOBY! THAT'S ENOUGH!"
And like a wounded soul who's bad luck just got immeasurably worse, his whines turned near silent -- just loud enough for me to hear them, but not loud enough for me to scold him.
Finally, I gave in. I turned on the light. Got up. Reached down and picked his pathetic ass up.
After settling back into bed, he curled up in his typical "don't leave me" stance: perched on my face.
But I didn't even care.
I just wanted to sleep. And if having fur up my nostrils was the only way to get it, so be it.
Here's to hoping tonight is better.