I should have called my cat "Tabby Kruger

I had a fantastic night’s sleep last night although I can’t remember if I dreamed anything. Normally I have spectacular dreams that are very compelling and I get annoyed when my alarm breaks in. Not all my dreams are that great - there was a nasty nightmare a few years ago about some wig-wearing guy at work and a swimming pool. I still wince when I remember it, which happens often because I made the mistake of telling Ant and Smilie about the “incident-that-NEVER-happened” and they haven’t let me forget it.

Generally I’m a light sleeper and often wake during the night, but not last night. I think it must be the eye-mask keeping my eyelids warm (refer to previous blog: “Things Edison forgot to invent”). When I woke up this morning, I found that my nose was grazed. Here’s the really bizarre thing: my muzzle was just fine when I went to bed the night before.

My Beloved was my first suspect but he’s denied all responsibility for any violence towards my nose. He blamed the cat. Having eliminated him from my enquiries I threw the question open to Facebook World. There was speculation about the injury being self-inflicted or that perhaps Beloved had tried to pick his nose but jammed his fingers up mine by mistake. You’d think I would have noticed.

This leaves only one serious conclusion: clearly I was abducted and probed by aliens who further anaesthetised my stupor to ensure I wouldn’t wake up half way through the procedure and take photos with my cell phone before spilling the story to “Campbell Live”.  Later today I found myself explaining to some students how the ancient Egyptians used hooks for pulling out people’s brains during the mummification process. Coincidence? I don’t think so! Those Egyptians were most certainly using extraterrestrial probes and it’s quite possible that my own brain was pulled out last night, examined and then replaced - probably with the added feature of the ability to morph myself into a lizard when the weather gets too hot.

This hypothesis hasn’t been taken seriously by anyone. We’ll just have to wait until summer to see if I turn into an iguana and start sunning myself on a rock. This leaves the earlier suggestion of the cat. Montague has always had it in for me ever since she was a kitten and I gave her a boy’s name. She’s a malevolent old fleabag and I wouldn’t put it past her to take a swat at my face as I slept.  I need to take measures to protect myself in future.

I’m putting a restraining order on my cat and knitting myself that nose-warmer I mentioned last week. Let’s just hope I don’t knit it too big because I hear that chainmail is very heavy.