No, not that kind of a yack, but the yack of a kitty. A yack sound that could wake the dead out of a coma. Mom scrambles out of bed to find the yacking offender so they don't yack on her new carpet and find it's Simon. Luckily he was on the wood, so she cleaned it and came back to bed.
Off again we drifted....I was dreaming of certain studly dogs and mom was dreaming of George Clooney when....Yack Round 2.
Again mom got out of bed (not quiet as leaping as before and mumbling something about words I cannot publish). Yack crisis two averted. Back to dreamland. At this point I got sick of being awakened by the yack, so I got out of bed and went to sleep in the spare bed. Ahh...serenity now.
Whatever. Mom gets up and starts turning on lights (it's now about 4 a.m. btw) looking for the yack sound...but I didn't hear a yack sound. But I couldn't see anything cause the lights being turned on burned out my retinas. Woman, just let them YACK for goodness sake! Gah!
Then mom realizes it wasn't the cat yacking, it was Duncan licking his feet. At 4 a.m. Yeah, I'm not even going there, but mom was so yack-paranoid she thought that it was another yack attack. She has yack shellshock.
By this point she had had enough! She buried herself in the covers and didn't emerge until 7 a.m. So we're both sleepy, the cats are sleeping soundly on the couch and I am quite worried about my brother's 4 a.m. foot fetish.
Have a great weekend! :)