Let's Get Quizzical

Oscar is an interesting young fellow. One night, probably around three in the morning, he came into the bedroom where I was asleep, but on the verge of waking. He crept to the far side of the bed, most likely by walking around, although I wouldn't put it past him to slink beneath the bed, and poked his head up just enough that I could see as far as the bottom of his nose. Note: I use the term "see" quite loosely, as I was not wearing my glasses and had not miraculously regained the third of my vision that seems to have gone the way of the heathens. He approaches me with a very curious manner, perhaps confused by the fact that I have all the trappings of his mother, but smell somewhat more like his brother. Note: As I cannot verify the similarity of our scents, this statement is almost purely conjecture. A few other curious habits include the occasional frenzied run around the apartment, and his affinity for running in front of my legs to "brush by" (read: trip me and leave me prone on the floor, unconscious, glasses broken, concussed). He also likes to jump in the bathtub just as I'm about to take a shower, which makes it somewhat difficult for me to achieve my desired goal. Such is the Oscar-Sarah continuum.