Back: coughs and shoulder sabotage.
Side: leg pain and betrayal.
Stomach: not even an option—just a cruel joke.
Every angle is a trap. Every adjustment a negotiation with pain. The cat sleeps like a loaf, smug and boneless. I rotate like a rotisserie chicken in a haunted oven.
It’s not insomnia. It’s logistics.
It’s not restlessness. It’s refusal.
Catch-22, but make it biomechanical.
Ms. Cat’s Chronicles 
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