If you are a cat lover, (and let’s face it you are if you’re a friend of mine), then you really should have already read the four brilliant books from Tom Cox. If you haven’t, get thee to a book store and purchase for immediate reading pleasure.
It was reading the latest book, Close Encounters of the Furred Kind, that I started to think about the various methods my cats employ for waking me up in the morning.
Our old girl, Tia, has more patience than most, experience telling her that I won’t forget about her no matter how late it is according to her Swiss precision internal watch. However, this doesn’t stop her being the one who will escort me to the fridge and her food bowl just to make sure that if I have suffered an episode of temporary amnesia overnight then she will still end up with some form of fish mush in her face.
Grace likes a very passive aggressive approach and will sit and watch while I emerge from the embrace of sleep. Depending which side I’m sleeping on at the time, she will pick her spot carefully so that when I do peel back my eyelids, the first thing I see is Grace – just sitting and staring at me. This morning she tried a variation on the theme and rather than using the bedside table as her base, she felt that being sat right beside me on the bed was going to work better. It certainly woke me up quickly when I opened my eyes to see two wide green ones looking back at me from 3cm away.
Tim is less passive, more aggressive in making his feelings known about just how late it is and don’t I realise that he’s starving and almost too weak to call the RSPCA – almost. His tactic is to present his bottom to my face. Whilst probably not the fluffiest cat in the world, he has cultivated some of the best baggy trousers I’ve ever seen – a delight to behold as they are walking away from you, a nightmare when he has one of his bouts of diarrhoea. And not that great when they’re stuffed into your face on a repeated basis whilst trying to work out who you are, where you are and how is it only Tuesday it should be at least half past January by now. If bum-in-face hasn’t worked, he’ll get vocal and start telling me about how starving he is and how he’s almost too weak to call the RSPCA, oh you’re getting up now excellent I can run ahead of you and get under your feet.
Loki’s main form of attack seems to be to try and make as much noise as possible, usually accomplished by taking a run up from down the other end of the house, running full speed into the bedroom door, over the floor, up the chair, down the chair, into the wardrobe, back up the chair, down the chair, back out of the room with claws out for extra irritation score, whilst yelling as loud as he can. Most of this can usually be prevented by fully closing the door but that doesn’t stop him doing steps one and two which result in the unmistakable sound of a tiny cat skull hitting something unyielding.
Of course once they’ve got me out of bed, there’s the seeming unnecessarily, yet absolutely necessarily, complicated feeding routine involving at least three different types of tinned food.
So, to the point of this post; I’m going out of town for a few days. Can anyone cat sit? 😉