Wednesday Winston: A losing battle.

Like any living, breathing, thinking creature Winston has his faults.
The primary of these is that he enjoys sleeping next to my face.
Next to, pressed up against, or on top of my face.
After he has placed himself in front of my nose making breathing difficult, he winds himself over the back of my head like a furry snake and proceeds to knead my hair with his paws. Sometimes he'll lick my face, which, if anything, is even more unpleasant. I've tried everything to get him to stop. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, piling blankets over his head and pinning him to the mattress or simply tossing him high up in the air and far away from the bed. Despite everything, he comes creeping back, slowly inching from the end of the bed, working his way up to my face; unearthing his nose from the blankets that have buried him and stealthily winding himself around my neck like a hot hairy scarf. In my tired state, all I have left in me is a menacing whisper, "Curse you, Winston!" as his rough itchy tongue begins its long sojourn over my tired skin.