There are few things in this world that comfort me as much as knowing I am not alone in bed. The ever so few nights that Jenn has spent away from me I basically force Minne and Igan to sleep in the bed. Lately, Jenn has been not only a comfort, but a form of entertainment.
I grew up with a dog named Chelsea. She was the world’s most well-behaved dog (unless you count her love for all things trash and her hatred of being tied up next to rental mini-vans). She would always sleep in my bean bag and would often sleep with one paw straight up in the air. We would laugh at her and my dad would say “Yes, Chelsea, do you have a question?” It seems that Chelsea has been possessing Jenn at night:
Or maybe Scrooge has been possessing Jenn:
My other favorite is this one. Poor Igan looks like “Help me. She is squashing my insides out.” And Jenn looks like “I shall love him and squeeze him and call him George.”