After everyone else in the house got back to sleep after the screaming and jumping and running around holding my head episode, I realized what had happened. Trixie the Great is trying to kill me.
She sleeps by me every night. She must have mad ninja skillz because there is no other explanation for how her obese feline body ends up there. I say this because I often have three children and a middle-aged Italian man clinging to me for dear life as I sleep (I think I have fostered a fear in them that one night I might just quietly slip out and never return, isn't that weird?). However, every morning I wake to her sweet little face (or business end) near to mine.
Trixie, as I may have mentioned, is the world's best cat. She often let's Princess MiMi carry her around like a rag doll with only the slightest look of irritation on her face. I adore her.
However, recently I've been distracted with so much other stuff that our quality time together (napping) has been limited. So, I guess she figured I deserved to die. I get it. I would probably have done the same thing.
Back to this morning, I've seen enough CSI to be able to quickly evaluate a crime scene. Here's what I think happened.
Trixie recognized I was asleep. and alive for the moment.
She moved close to my head and got comfortable by moving my "wubby" (my blanket which is actually a down comforter) so that half my face was covered, impairing my field of vision in the semi-darkness.
She then moved for the death strike, she half lay down upon my left lower leg (my calf will not accomadate her entire girth despite my best efforts to bulk up). She then proceeded to give herself a bath knowing that this action whould shake her whole body and mine, which would feign the symptom of a throbbing calf muscle.
It worked perfectly.
The panic should have killed me. It's a miracle that it didn't.
I'm on notice, Madam Trixie, you won't find me such an easy target in the future. En garde!