Two-thirty in the morning, Boo comes to our bedroom door to whine because she didn’t eat before bed and now she’s hungry. I get up to feed her because she’s not going to shut up and I won’t be able to ignore her whining.
Three o’clock in the morning, Scooter starts to play the game where he reaches under the door. His claws make a scrabbling noise against the floor and the door itself booms like a drum.
I give up on sleep, crawl out of bed and curl up on the sofa to trawl the posts on early-morning Twitter.
Both Boo and Scooter curl up and go back to sleep.
My Darling B never wakes up during any of this.
I’m going to be homicidal by twelve-thirty.