The Master’s Bedroom Takeover

A lot of homes in Canada make use of what is known as a master bedroom. We have one of those at our place and it is well and truly put to great use by the family’s master. I crawl into the bed in that room late at night (I am a nighthawk) and I am allowed to remain snuggled up under the covers until 8 a.m. or so every day when the master enters the room to dislodge me.

My wake-up call is not gentle nor is it subtle. In fact, I get yelled at and am informed in no uncertain terms that I am to leave the comfort of the bed to make way for him. I protest, but that is a waste of breath. I have learned to accept my fate and while I am still sitting on the side of the bed getting dressed for the day, the master is already covering himself up with the blankets.

Our master is not only demanding, but a little odd in his sleeping habits. He completely covers himself up in the bed, even burying his head under the comforters.

The master of our house is 18 years old, and I will come right out and tell you that, as much as we love him, he’s as lazy as an old cat. He has no job, does nothing to help with household chores and eats constantly. He rarely shows any gratitude for all the things we do for him and, as the typical master might do, I suppose, he behaves as though he expects us to meet his every demand.

So often we are made aware that he is the boss of us and we give in, even when we are aware we are spoiling him.

The master of our house sleeps in the bed in the master bedroom all day, emerging now and then for a snack and a drink and then returning to his slumberland.

We have discussed various things we might do to get control of this situation because we sometimes feel this arrangement isn’t right. But, we seem powerless to bring about change. We let things go too far, we realize now, and it seems there is no going back. If he would just help us out once in a while, but he simply won’t.

He won’t even clean out the litterbox he makes deposits in several times a day.

I really hate to say this, though master he might be, he really is just one big fluffy freeloader.

©2024 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.