My cat curled up next to my face under the blanket last night and gradually worked me into a painfully contorted position with my arm somewhere above my head getting colder and colder as the hours wore on. At some point, I awoke in a confused panic to thoughts of my house being on fire or a terrorist attack having begun flashing across my befuddled mind. My cat's anus, inches from my face and fueled by can after can of half-rotted Ocean Whitefish, had released a vertiginous retching horror directly into my nostrils. A litany of cursing and gagging and arm waving on my part caused him to raise his head to look at me. He stood up, stretched, and turned around a few times before settling back down on my pillow in the spot where my head had just been.