The door creaks open in the silent darkness. A huge fluffy monster squeezes through and pads across the floor. He bends down, shoves his face into the bowl and crunch crunch crunches his way through some food.
I’m sort-of awake. As the loud crunching happens, I wake up a bit more. Drenched in sweat, I try, and fail, to wipe my face. Crawling through to the bathroom, I bury my face in a towel, wipe it and then fill up my water glass.
When I return to the room, there’s a huge shape crouched on the floor, slurping at a bowl of water. That’s the fluffy monster, consuming his supper at 2.30am, I see on my watch.
Gulping my own water, I remain calm. In a minute, I’ll switch the Bodyscan CD on. Not yet: it will disturb my cat and I don’t want to annoy him.
Now I’m wide awake, turning over everything in my mind. The fan buzzes and whirrs but I’m still So Hot. These hot flushes last for a while before I can settle down.
The fluffy monster strides across the room to the door, pulls it towards him with a paw. It creaks as it opens to let him through. And then I’m alone again, dripping with sweat, wide awake.
And there are hours and hours of night to get through, still…
*1967. By Agatha Christie. Murder mystery.