Camalot

I am bound and cannot move. I try to move my left leg and hear only a growl. I try to move my right arm and it is nothing but dead weight. I try to flip on my side and I get hit in the nose. I am trapped because I live with a family of bedhogs.

The hossman family bed is a king size, as if it could be anything else. It is greatness and where all our major decisions are made. It is safety, it is compassion and it is the seat of my kingdom.

My wife and I started out together in a twin sized bed. I have no idea how as I am quite a large man and she is a bedhog. She steals covers, she steals glasses of water, she steals anything that she can get her sleepy hands on. But I was young then and willing to give anything to any woman that was willing to sleep in my same bed. This was in college and even though I had fabulous hair then, I still had no game.

We soon upgraded to a queen sized bed and finally to our masterpiece that is the Kingsized bed.

Oddly though, I still don’t have any more room that I used to have. Even though my kingdom has increased in territory, my throne room remains the same twin sized border town it has always been.

We go to bed around 8:30 nowadays. This is because Hossmom is with child and gets very tired very early. As part of our marriage contract, that means I have to go to bed at that time to. Yes, sometimes I sneak out when she is down but usually get caught. A cranky pregnant wife is not good, so I usually read or play some xbox. One day the warden promises me more incentives, but until then, I go to bed at 8:30.

This is, infact, the rule for the entire family. In the king-sized bed there lays my wife, my self, the fat belly newt—our chubby dog, Kahn—our blockhead boxer, Clarence—our Casanova cat, and eventually Whorelly—Demon hell cat that hates my wife.

And they all want one thing. Hossman. They all gravitate to me like I am a big black hole sucking in all the light. They don’t want pillows, they don’t want money—they want parts of me. And they all get upset if I move.

Let’s start with my wife. She scotches way on over so that there is roughly a mile and half of open space on her side. This is an open prairie that could be farmed by serfs. She doesn’t want the land, even though it is primo in my kingdom. Nope, she wants my right side and all of it. No movement please, she is sleeping.

The dogs have pre-ordained sites next to me. The fat belly gets my feet. She’s not picky about smells. She wants the legs and all of them.

Kahn gets my right side and he is the most finicky of the bunch. If there is not enough room for him there, and no where else, he will whine and scratch the bed until I scoot over giving him his spot. The pillows most be removed from this side, there can be no interference on his territory. He has slept with us since a puppy. Of course, he is 60 pounds of pure muscle now but he still thinks that he is that 5 pound sissy that we brought home.

The cats are a different story. Atleast the others have a little remorse about how I feel. Not the cats. Clarence gets the right hand. He doesn’t want to snuggle mind you, he just wants to put his head in your hand. If you move your hand, he follows it. If the palm is not open, he bites. Do not displease Clarence.

Finally there is Whorelly. But she has a different style. She goes to bed with us when everyone is already asleep. This allows her to creep past the dogs and settle her very fat frame right on my chest with her nose inches from mine. Go to bed with a warm gallon of milk on your chest and this is what it is like for me.

I can’t blame anyone. I was made for hugs not drugs. I am furry and cuddly. I am like a 250 pound carebear. Who wouldn’t want a piece of me?

Of course, with any kingdom where there are fiefdoms, there are territorial disputes. My family is not only a bunch of bedhogs, they are floppers fighting for space. There is plenty of other territory to occupy should they choose, but no, they all want the beachfront that is Hossman.

Let’s run through the injuries that I have suffered. I have had 2 bloody noses. I’m not kidding or making this up for a better story. My wife has popped me twice in the kisser as she is flopping causing blood to flow.

I have been kicked or kneed in the crotch more times that I can count. Imagine this if you will, you are deep asleep and all of a sudden you feel a knee right in the baby maker. Is this a dream? No, dreams don’t make you throw up. Everyone is guilty here. Both dogs, my wife, even my fat cat. In their border disputes, my neither region is primo battle ground.

A bloody lip, again from the flailing arms of my wife.

Scratches on eyelids, cheek and gums. This is from fat cat Whorelly. She is not as stealthy as she likes to believe. Once every couple of months she will be on my chest when the dogs wake up.. They think t hat she is a furry dog bone because they bolt after her (right across my crotch). She then uses my face as her starters blocks and off she goes. I swear to all that is holy that I will declaw her.

But as I am the king, I have brought in a mercenary. I have brought in someone not concerned with territory, only my will. Little Hoss, the king bedhog and flopper of the bunch.

She doesn’t want just a piece, she wants the whole thing. She doesn’t sleep in our bed as I am terrified that I would roll over and smush her. So when she does come to the bed, she determines that it is play time. And what are the two things that she loves to play with most of all?

Tails and Hair. Neither of which I have. I am King Solomon.

As soon as she is in bed, she makes a beeline for my wife’s hair. My wife has great, gorgeous hair. It is full, long and there is a ton of it. Unfortunately for her, she has a very sensitive head from carrying around this Repunzal like main. One pull from my daughter and bam, I have some space.

Next are the dogs, they have tails. She is relentless in her attack. Any tail needs to be pulled, possibly bitten as she gives her war cry. If they do not cooperate, she quickly pushes them to the floor.

Clarence hates to be picked up and hugged. That is exactly what she does as she banishes him to the underside of the bed.

Only the fat cat remains. But the fat cat is ingenious. She is El Juapo, she’s infamous. She does not run but actually lets my daughter pet her. This is odd because she doesn’t let anyone pet her but me. The fat cat is making an allegiance. She remains while the others are scattered.

And I have my space. Of course, I don’t get any sleep because my daughter doesn’t know when to quit. If I let her she would pitch herself off the side of the bed without any thought. She is a thrill seeker with a little baby bungee cord tied to her waist.

But atleast I am no longer in a twin sized bed. It took me unleashing the Kracken, but I’m sure she will not betray me. Until she realizes how fun it is to kick me in the groin.