When I first leave the office door open at night, most kittens will still seek the familiar and sleep upstairs. These kittens followed the usual pattern, discovering the expanse of the downstairs frontier after a few days, then figuring out how to climb on the bed, finding the big cats sleeping there, and finally - oh joy! - MOM!
It's a little crowded on the bed these past few days, though Cricket has elected a change of venue to the closet hallway, temporarily, I assume. That leaves John and 5 kittens. I am forced to admit that on a couple of occasions I have returned to bed after a 2am nature call to find that there was no room for me to squeeze back in, human pretzel that I am, and relocated myself to the couch.
Now, don't snort with disgust and tell me to just throw the kittens off the bed. (And if you believe cats shouldn't be on beds in the first place you are obviously reading the wrong blog.) Waking a sleeping kitten at 2am initiates a domino effect. He starts playing, wakes up all the other kittens she can find, they wrestle and pounce all over the bed, and either wake you up or keep you from going back to sleep, too. You become greatly annoyed, scoop up all the kittens you can grab, toss them out of the bedroom and close the door. They spend the rest of the night scratching and crying at the door. Trust me, it's easier to relocate to the couch for those last few hours and let sleeping cats lie.
While DH is traveling we have the whole bed to ourselves, and it's fairly easy to reposition myself around half-a-dozen kittens in the middle of the night. But then there are half-a-dozen cats on the bed in the morning, as breakfast time approaches.
I am not an early riser (have I mentioned that?). Someone should warn you before you go to medical school that doctors go to work awfully early in the morning. As a natural night owl I spent nearly 3 decades trying to not do something stupid before 9am, but no more. I love retirement.
I do find I get up a little earlier when I have kittens in the bed, especially on the long summer days when it gets light so early. They don't pester (not tolerated) but what they do is nearly as exasperating - they keep checking to see if I'm awake yet. They perch themselves on the pillow beside my head and on my chest and stare intently at my face, searching for signs of alertness. And purr. Loudly, in stereophonic surround sound.
Not the worst alarm I've ever woken to.