kittens and tuna

it started with one little meow, originating from the corner. it was soft, but woke me up anyways. slightly groggy, i looked, but couldn't locate its origin. it sounded like it was searching for something, somewhere, the meowing interjected with sounds of scratching, like a nose inching its way along the corner where the wall meets the floor. i fumble around for the light, but couldn't find it. in the meantime, the scratching sound has stopped - the meowing continues intermittently - amidst my attempts to illuminate the darkness. it sounds like a few kittens, no longer one.

is that something wet i feel on my toe? i peer down and feel a wave fall over the top of my calves. a wave? the juxtaposition of the cold wetness versus bedcover-warmth startle me out of sleep. is that the sound of waves? do i smell the ocean? the meowing disappears amidst the lapping of the waves. i clutch at my bedcovers in an absurd attempt to keep dry.

something dark passes under my bed, which is floating in an ocean of water in a seemingly normal fashion. i should be perplexed but am considering instead in a oddly calm way that the shape has something important to say. a splash occurs in the distance; i look up and see that the shape has emerged its head above water in the form of a tuna fish. or what i think is a tuna fish. after all, i have never seen a tuna fish before. nor have i ever spoken to one, with the exception of this night.

good morning says the tuna to me.

guten morgen i mumble back. it seems natural that i should respond in german.

close your eyes says the tuna as he jumps back into the water with a splash.

i cover my face instinctively ... and wake up to a mouthful of bedcover.