Not Really

Every time I'm about to fall asleep, the dog barks her short, dry, cough of a bark and startles me awake. This happens four or five times until there's a knock at the door.

Our downstairs neighbor is there, with some feathers for Katie, wrapped in a tissue. She sees my disheveled look, my eyes slitted and bloodshot, and a look of concern crosses her face as she asks, "Oh, we're you trying to nap?"