Cats. Eyes.

When I went to bed last night I was reading something on my phone before I went to sleep. So, rather than put my glasses on top of the chest of drawers, I just put them on the chair at the side of the bed next to my phone and my book.

And I thought nothing of it.

Until, that is, this morning when I came to put them on.

Now, I am used to fingerprints on my glasses. And greasy smudges. In fact, were I ever to be able to see without the use of glasses, I think I would miss that slightly smudgy feeling you get every now and again when your eye tries to focus on the ridges and whorls of a fingerprint rather than the outside world.

I am not, as a rule, used to cat paw prints and something which I hope was just a massive smudge and not a cat’s bumhole adorning my lenses.

I had forgotten that Peppa, of late, likes to sit on the chair and watch us sleep.

In a really sinister way. Like you can feel the air from her little nostrils blowing across your face kind of way. She’s really close. I think, in her own way, it’s a kind of revenge thing. We’ve shut her out of what was, essentially, her bedroom. It’s been her bedroom since she was a kitten, but now we’ve decorated and put a bed in it and whatever it’s too good for the likes of her to hang out (although we have been letting her, to bed fair). So I think now she’s just staring at us all the time, until we get so uncomfortable we go bad to letting her sleep in there just so we don’t get the heeby-jeebies.

She also likes to sit on the chair and rake one paw down my exposed arm. Not painfully. There are barely claws out, but it’s enough that if she was trying to get information out of me, I would talk. It’s somewhere on the threshold between quite a pleasant experience and absolute hell.

And, last night, she did all that whilst sitting on my glasses. I genuinely thought that something had happened to my eyes during the night. That I had lost some of my sight or something. An idea which, as someone who uses visual media a lot, absolutely terrifies the crap out of me).

I’m glad I didn’t panic-call the opticians and demand an eye test, only for them to find nothing physically wrong with my eyes and that on closer inspection I’d been trying to see the world through a smudged print of a cat’s anus.