We live on a very quaint kind of street. It’s a crescent, so there’s pretty much no traffic, and there are a ton of kids (all of whom seem to live either next door or two doors down) who are constantly outside doing very imaginative things. They never seem to be inside playing video games or watching tv, and from our front window we frequently see them zooming by on bikes or rollerblades or scooters. (In the summer, obviously. Currently we are knee deep in snow and nobody is scooting anywhere. There is only trudging.) They have lemonade stands and draw on the sidewalk and are generally quite delightful neighbours, in a very stereotypical kind of way. (Their mother is also quite sarcastic and very friendly, even though we TOTALLY CANNOT REMEMBER HER NAME. Argh.)

Included in our picturesque neighbourhood, of course, is a myriad of friendly animals. There are a pile of bunnies who seem to live in the area (snow hares, which are brown in summer and white in winter), and we see them fairly regularly and their footprints even more frequently. The people two doors down have the cutest puppy in the world (named Belle, I learned at the lemonade stand, and my word, it is cute. And yes, it’s named for the Disney character, and the girls were very impressed when I knew that), and there are also several cats around.

Much though we get mocked for it, Jamie and I are fond of these neighbour kitties, and I bought some treats to give them when they came to visit our stoop. (We have a great stoop.) Two in particular came quite regularly, and would sit on our stoop and eat their treats and let us pet them.

Jamie seemed to find it quite hilarious to wake me up in the mornings by bringing a visiting cat in and putting it on my head. Sometimes my stomach, but usually the head. Now, I was woken for years by my cat batting my nose, so I don’t actually mind being woken up by a cat, but it was always a little alarming.

Unfortunately, I think I can count on one finger the number of times I’ve been up before Jamie, so I could never retaliate.

Until one night, when I came home really late and found a cat on the stoop. Now, usually they’re home safe in bed by the time I get home, but this one particular evening the cat had escaped for a night on the town. He was sitting patiently there, obviously hoping for a treat (having missed dinner, obviously), and as I gave him a treat a thought occurred to me.

So I picked up the cat (very friendly) and took him into the bedroom. Jamie, naturally, was fast asleep, so I put the cat on his head.

Man, it was funny. He took a minute to wake up, and when he did, he was totally confused and couldn’t figure out (a) what was on his head, and (b) why it was there. But the best part was, the next morning, he had no recollection that he’d been woken up with a cat on his head. (Karen loves this story. She gets absolutely hysterical even remembering it now, and I think it was at least six months ago!)
Anyway. The moral of this story is that my husband remembers nothing from when he is half-asleep, which has led to many temptations of amusing things to do to him when he’s asleep. I mostly resist, but tonight, I gave in.

I’m making a pair of socks for someone with the same size feet as him, and he’s been very helpfully letting me try them on him periodically to check for sizing. But he went to bed around 11, and I hit the part where I thought I’d need to decrease for the toe fairly soon. So I went into our room, turned on my lamp, and untucked his foot. I pulled the needles around (I use magic loop, so one big long circular needle) and tugged the sock over his foot.

He didn’t even move. I burst out laughing and he still didn’t wake up, so finally I poked him (I know, I’m a terrible wife, but it was really funny!) and asked him if he knew what I’d done. He still had the sock on his foot and he had no idea. Man. Hilarious. I went back 20 minutes later to check it again and he still didn’t move! That is a sound sleeper.

So now I’m really tempted to start a website called stuffonmyhusband.com and see what I can get away with. Any suggestions?

(He’s going to kill me for this entry.)

(And incidentally, the sock is only 14 rounds away from done! Victory is in sight!)