The Joke is on Me

I was sitting in the living room on Gregg's chair reading the morning paper; Gregg had already left for work. Moonie and Hugo were milling about the kitchen where I had left a little dish of milk and Moonie's third bowl of food for the day (it was only about 7 a.m.). Ray was asleep on his favorite pillow on his favorite couch in the other room.
All of a sudden, Ray spazzed off of the couch and sprinted to the front hall, his tail curled high over his back in hunt-alert mode. Hugo was nowhere to be seen and Moonie was in her own little cat world having a drink of milk.
I didn't hear anything, but Ray must have heard something, I thought to myself as I got up off of the chair, leaving my robe covering the seat, to herd Ray away from the incredible shrinking cat and her milk.
"Go lay down, Ray," I said as I stood in the doorway blocking Ray's entry to the kitchen.
Ray's tail went from full sail to half-mast as he turned and started back to the couch, then swerved and made a beeline for the chair I had been occupying. Before I could move, the dog was curled in a ball on top of my robe on top of my chair.
I sighed.
I hate April Fools Day.