No Feet On The Bed

In an experiment to curb my presumed sleep apnea, I tried sleeping on my vintage chaise longue.
It's a handmade bed or couch that I bought from Mercer  Island Thrift Store, since Kris had always expressed a desire for one. She had the thrilling image of resting there sipping fine drinks and playing the lady. She left it behind in the divorce.
The person who donated it said that it had come from a grandparent who had said it came from a Colorado saloon in the late 1800s. I don't know, but the wood work definitely looks hand made. The upholstery is modern and aweful but it is understandable that it would have needed to be replaced. I fancy thinking that this had once graced a bawdy house. It sat unused for a year until I tried it last night.
I can rest comfortably on my side and I'd hoped that its narrowness would discourage me from lying on my back and snoring. This worked somewhat. At first I slept on my side and awoke little. But around three I awoke on my back with the dry mouth feeling and my feet hanging over the end. It's not going to work as intended but it was a worthwhile experiment.
The cats were puzzled by this. Imp settled for sleeping on a nearby shelve where I had deliberately set a towel. Arthur jumped on my and nuzzled as usual but declined to take the shelf near my head. He has his opinions, that's all. The other cats came and went, perhaps as interested in this new arrangement as concerned about the puppy. Life goes on, I'll find another way to deal with the apnea.