Late night musings ward off insomnia but not cold butts

It’s late. About midnight on a Tuesday. That’s late for me. I’m usually trying to fall asleep, unsuccessfully I might add, by 10 p.m. Sleep can be elusive and, as such, a physical and mental nightmare. No pun intended, and perhaps, no pun even executed; the attempt at a pun was mercifully put to a quiet end – thus, the execution. As you can see, it is late and I am goofy. Actually, I don’t need to be rumbling about late at night to be rendered goofy. I do quite well acting the goof when it’s early in the day, and I am at my best. Sad, really, especially for my friends. Or to not put too fine a point on it, my friend.

Her name is Fluffy;  the neighborhood cat. Fluffy has taken some pity on me, I suspect, and from time to time, and most assuredly, only after a significant amount of coaxing on my part does she purr up to me allowing the occasional pet. Fluffy has redeemed my faith in the goodness of all of God’s creatures.

I plop down on my driveway, legs crossed, and repeat Fluffy’s name softly and ad nauseam. My buttocks squarely pressed on the cold cement, clothed, of course, but still the cold cement saying hello to my backside as I try coaxing Fluffy to join me in my quest to have a friend. Even for just a moment.

“Fluffy,” I say softly. “Fluffy. Fluuuuuuffeeee. Fluffy. Fuluuuufeeeee,” I say again and again and again. Here I am, cross-legged, sitting on the cold cement driveway, grabbing my one chance at the friendship ring. Oftentimes, it does work. Other times, well, hell, we won’t go there. Other times, she shrugs and ambles off into the night. Gone. Redemption gone with it.

But, hell, it’s late and I’m cross-eyed. Can’t see. Can’t type. Can’t spell. Can’t think. Actually, nothing unusual about that. Back in the day, I used to keep one-eye closed when drunk just to navigate through the day. And night. At the time, I thought it was a terrific help. In reality it was a desperate act of a desperate man. It didn’t help at all. Just ask all those nice police officers that thankfully pulled me over those nearly 40 years ago, time in, time out. I couldn’t see my two hands in front of my face whether using two eyes, one or none at all.

But enough of this madness. I salute you and say: “goodnight to you all, and to all a hearty good luck.”

And please remember, when in doubt, you always have survival shows on cable TV, such as Bear Grylls in “Man vs. Wild;” Les Stroud in “Survivorman;” or the penultimate, “Dual Survival” with Cody Lundin and Dave Canterbury. These iconic heroes will lead us to salvation. Or, at the very least, to a hot meal without bugs.  Absolutely.


About stevewhitmore

Former award-winning newspaperman and broadcast journalist, both radio and TV, spanning three decades. Army-trained paralegal, court bailiff and prosecutor's lead investigator for the 8th Infantry Division's Judge Advocate General's Corp., Mainz, Germany. 1973-1975.
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