Too Late For Cleo

It's three a.m. and Cleo is whining.  Is she asleep or pretending?  Who will get up and let the dog out?  I lay awake listening to the fan oscillate and the drawstring of the blind dance.  The cat and mouse dance mesmerizes me until the shrill of that damn dog interrupts my trance.  

Up I go slowly venturing downstairs.  Every step I take the sounds of my cracking bones in my feet and legs grow fainter.  Naturally oiling up, what a concept.  

"Outside Cleo",  I say as I open the back door.  She bolts out like an animal on fire trying to get to water.  I close the door behind her, stand there rubbing my almost 24 hour stubble growth on my face.  'Just a few more hours and I'll be up',  I thought.  'Not entirely fair, but I always tell my kids, life is not always fair.'  

As I reach around to scratch my itching butt,  I sense another presence in the room.  Out of the corner of my eye is the silhouette of Brenda,  completely naked.  Mine for the taking.  

As she gets on her knees and pulls my pajama pants drawstring, I hear Cleo scratching on the door, wanting in.  Not my concern, for my eyes are already rolling in the back on my head.  Too late....... too late for Cleo.