Archives for posts with tag: cats

 

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Later this month, the 4th anniversary of the loss of our cat Olive will be upon us. During the course of those four years, a tiny solar-powered $1.50 pathway lantern, bought at Walmart, has marked her grave.

Every single lantern I bought before or since than has petered out. They aren’t a quality product, and rarely last one season.

Except Olive’s light.

It’s the strangest thing. All other lights of a similar style weren’t worth diddly-squat. But Olive’s light? It shines bright every night. For four, long years.

I think that’s pretty cool.

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Today marks the one-year anniversary of when our family went from being the proud owners of two kitties, to the mournful owners of one. Losing a pet sucks. I’m sure there are plently of you out there who have had to endure the death of a furry friend, and know of what I speak.

It was a miserable thing to go through – finding your pet laying stiff in a ditch along the road. Putting her in a box, and burying her in the rain. Finding a heart-shaped stone the next day and putting it on her gravesite. I also put a 99¢ garden light from Walmart at the head of her grave.

You know something? That cheap little light has outlasted every other, more expensive light in my garden. Shine bright like a diamond, Olive…

The year has flown on by. Her brother Dodger spent a month looking around the house for her. But now he’s used to being the only kitty. We are more careful with him now, too. He cannot go out if the sun is down, or if we are going to be out of the house for the day. And even once the sun is up, I send up a silent prayer of thanks everytime he lopes back through the door.

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She wasn’t the most loveable kitty in the world, but I really miss her. While her brother is a big, lumbering, way too cute, dope of a cat, she was demure, aloof, and quiet, and would spend hours grooming herself. She like to sleep in odd places too.

Like in my in-box on my desk.

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or on top of our hot water heater…I actually cut her a piece of carpet and fit it on top so she would be more comfy.

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And I miss the way when you scratched her at the base of her tail, she would incessantly lick her shoulder. It was a total twitch she had – it you scratched, she licked, when you stopped, she stopped.

I miss hearing her give Dodger the business. He would come up to her and try to clean her or play with her, and she might let him…for a while. But when she tired of it, she got her bitch on and Dodger would be on the receiving end of a blow…and yes, I’ve seen fur fly. But then again, he’d tackle her a lot, so he usually had it coming.

Ah Olive. I hope you’re resting well. Know that for the short few years you were with us that you were safe, and loved, and that your family misses you.

I think I’ll plant something by you tonight.

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I love my cat. He’s a scamp. He sleeps in unconventional positions. He has a wide variety of “meows” that are all expressive and super cute. And he’s never hissed at us or scratched us. Not once.

He has his moments when I want to kill him too…like when he decides to play with everything on my nightstand at 4:30 am, which by the way, he did this morning. Or when he crawls into my Christmas village and steals the little elf to bat around the floor.

But for the most part, he’s a super cat and is showered with much love and attention. He’s not a lap cat, which is a bummer to me, but he will allow me to hold him for a short while, and that’s when I shower him with love.

The other day as I was whispering sweet nothings in his ear and repeatedly kissing his head, I wondered if he realized that this is a good thing. Cause sometimes he just seems annoyed. But other times he purrs and almost seems to lay his head against mine.

Does my kitty know that I love him? When he feels my hot breath against his neck does he know that I’m telling him how much he means to our family and that he’s a good boy? When I kiss his giant melon head does he understand that he’s loved and adored?

I know when he’s showing me affection…like when he head butts me, or licks my forehead. When he rubs up against me and gives me tail hugs. But does he understand my signals?

I sure hope so.

Dodger

Each weekday morning my cat drives me crazy.

It used to was that I let him out the minute I got up at 4:45 am. He’d sleep at my feet (or at my head) and the minute the alarm went off he would trot to the bathroom, rub up against my legs as I took care of my morning business, and then meow pleadingly at the front door. And I’d let him out.

But a few weeks ago we had a scare. Minutes after I let him out I heard an unearthly noise –  a ghostly, whining moan – followed by a loud, horrific screetch. To any cat owners out there, you know how unnerving that sound can be.

I ran out the front door, calling out my cat’s name but got no response. I then ran to the back door and out into the driveway. Our little kitty was fearfully crouching in the back of the driveway and when I approched him he made a slunky retreat under my husband’s car.

temptations-treats-for-cats-chicken-flavor-3oz-1_1By this time my daughter was up and outside in her nightgown, frantic that her beloved kitty was injured. We coaxed him out from under the car with kitty krack…a bag of Temptation cat treats.

Once inside he seemed no worse for the wear, with the exception of a scratch on his nose and one of his puffy little cheeks. But it was scary. We couldn’t tell if the creature that he had almost come to blows with was simply another cat or something more lethal, like a possum.

Right then and there the decision was made to keep kitty indoors until the sun comes up. And right then and there my mornings went from quiet to cacophonous.

Kitty still sleeps by my head, still joins me in the bathroom for a few leg rubs and scratches, but then I sit at the computer and he sits at the door and cries. And cries. And cries. From 4:45 – 6:30 am he cries moanfully, and bangs his paw on the wooden blinds, which make a horrible clattering noise.

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That’s when I hit him with the spray bottle. And he runs away…for a minute. Then he’s right back wailing and crying and banging the blinds, where I again grab the spray bottle to give him another squirt. My husband is worse, though. He’ll chase him around the house spraying the poor cat until he’s fairly soaking.

By the time the sun is starting to rise I am more than ready to drop kick him out the front door. So my rule is, if it’s light enough for me to see the street, he is cleared for take-off. My daugher and husband do not share in the wisdom of this rule. They want the sun high in the sky before he can head out, but they haven’t been up for 90 minutes listening to his wails and moans and blind banging.

If it wasn’t so annoying, it would almost be comical. It’s like he’s missing some big kitty meeting that all of his buddies are at, and he’s the only newbe left inside. I wish I could reason with the little fucker…sit him down and say, “kitty – there are monsters out there, and we don’t want them to eat you up so you have to stay in where it’s safe.”

He’s such a beautiful kitty. The thought of something happening to him, something like what we went through with Olive last spring, is too painful for me to bear. I just hope he gets used to our new schedule soon – cause it’s not even winter yet, and the mornings are only going to get darker for the next month.

IMG_6295As I stood in the shower on the morning of April 28th, I was the proud owner of two beautiful kitties – brother and sister that we adopted from our local animal shelter on July 5th, 2010. Less than an hour later I’d be crying over a cardboard box holding the lifeless body of my sweet little Olive.

Olive. Otherwise known as n’Olive. That was her nickname. I’m not sure why we started adding on the hint of an “n” before her name, but we almost always called her n’Olive. Except for my husband – he called her “the grey cat” even though she was clearly brown.

Both cats had been out all night, which happens from time to time, especially when the weather gets warm. Hubby slept on the couch until the wee hours waiting to hear either of them scratching at the door, but he finally gave up and went to bed when no amount of calling brought them in. When I got up at 5 am, I opened the back door to find Dodger waiting to be let in, but no Olive.

I was worried, but not panicked – she liked to make her own entrance. I kept waiting for her tell-tale scratch at the front door, but soon it was time to get into the shower. I thought about her while I was in there – thought about how the last time she didn’t come in after an all night outing, she had come home badly hurt. That wasn’t even a year ago – just the end of last summer.

When the sun came up I walked down the driveway to make sure she wasn’t laying in the road. I’d hate for my daughter to see that. I looked up and down saw nothing crumpled on the pavement, or in the grassy ditch along the side of the road. I even looked at the road behind our house, which is tough because I have to wade through a thicket of trees with about 8 inches of leaves on the ground.

Once my youngest woke up and heard Olive was MIA we decided to go out and take another look. As I was walking up the road, I heard my daughter cry out for me. She’d found Olive.

My sweet girl was laying in a deep ditch beside the storm pipe that runs under the street from our house. She wasn’t moving. I hurried down beside her, but there was nothing to be done. She was dead.

The next hour was a bad one. My youngest dropped to her knees in the road and began sobbing. I got her up and took her back to the house where I woke up Hubby, who came out and got her out of the ditch. We placed her in a box, and I carried her to the garage. There was no way I was sending my daughter to school that day, and then I thought of what to tell my oldest daughter.

She was still at college, getting ready for finals week. Hubby suggested we keep this bad news from her so she could concentrate on finishing out her year. At first I was horrified – she had to know. Olive was her cat. They were like peas and carrots – always sleeping together. Olive would only sleep on her lap, only let her scritch behind her ears for hours on end.

But he was right. So we kept it from her for almost two weeks.

I had to work that day – Mondays are busy for me. I took my youngest into town with me where we moped our way through the day. I lost it when I told my co-workers, but had to keep my cool the remainder of the day. Can’t be answering the phone with a weepy, hitching voice.

When we got home, we found a nice spot, dug a deep hole and said goodbye to our beautiful girl. We laid her on the piece of carpet she slept on, and wrapped her in one of my oldest daughter’s baby blankets. But first we petted her. I scratched her little head, and rubbed her pretty belly and cried, and cried, and cried. We each took turns shoveling dirt on her, and then cried some more.

The next day we had some heavy rains in the area, and on the way home, hubby and my youngest stopped to watch the Rivanna River flow rapidly by. And there, hubby spotted a flat rock in the shape of a heart. It’s the centerpiece of her grave now, surrounded by pavers, flowers, and a light. I plan on making that area a garden over the course of time. Tiger lilies and pussy willows. And black eyed susans.

By the time my oldest came home from college ten days later, we had formed a bit of a scab on our hearts. But leading her to the grave when she asked where her kitty was ripped that scab off like it was attached to the band-aid. And once again we cried, and cried, and cried.

Olive was a weird kitty. Aloof and standoffish, more times than not she would arch away from you when you went to pet her. She didn’t like to be held, and was totally disinterested in her brother, who lived to torment her in his playful kitty way. But to my oldest she was something completely different. Olive would surrender totally to her – they shared a bond that no one else in the family could even come close to having with her.

Yet after her accident last year, she had begun to mellow towards the rest of us. I think she realized that we took care of her…that we loved her, and she began to reciprocate. She’d give us more tail hugs and would endure more scratches. She’d lay on the carpet and roll her belly up to be rubbed. She slept with me from time to time.

And now she’s gone. Just when she was getting good. There are things I’ll miss about that stubby little kitty.

I’ll miss her dainty little scratch at the front door. Dodger? He moves the sliding screen with his paws making a loud clanking sound. But n’Olive? She’d just give a few little scratches and wait patiently to be let in.

I’ll miss how she used to sleep on top of the hot water heater – so much so that I got a carpet remnant and cut it to fit.

I’ll miss her little legs that looked like bowling pins, and her long rabbit feet. I’ll miss how those legs used to walk on the back of mine when she was climbing into bed with me – and how much it hurt.

I’ll miss the little spot of white on her lips – it was wider when she was a kitten, but as she grew older it shrunk into a little area where it looked like she had a dab of cream on her lips.

I’ll miss how when we would come up the driveway, she’d always run to the back door by trotting along the wooden beams that line the driveway, stopping to sharpen her claws at the end.

I’ll miss how she used to sleep in the little space right next to the TV set, and how she’d cuddle up in the in-box by the computer.

I’ll miss her high pitched little meow when I would open up a can of wet food.

Ah my sweet little n’Olive. We miss you.

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47518My two kitties are like my third and fourth children. I keep tabs on their whereabouts all day, and when I haven’t seen one or the other in more than a few hours, I begin to worry.

Such was the case on Thursday. I had let both Olive and Dodger out at 5:30 that morning, as is the case on most every day of the week. They will roam back in and out, usually hourly, all morning. While Dodger will come in and nap for a few hours during the day, Olive tends to stay out longer, especially when the weather is as nice as it has been around here.

That’s why I wasn’t too worried when I didn’t see her most of the day. When I came home from picking up my youngest from school, she didn’t come running up to be let in, which I found sort of odd. She had to be hungry by now, but thought maybe she had caught a bird or a vole. But when we pulled in the driveway at 10pm that night and she still was nowhere to be found, I began to worry.

We called and called for her over the course of the next hour, but I finally went to bed knowing my husband would be home a little later and maybe she would come in then. When he arrived, I asked him if Olive had come in, to which he replied “no.” I told him how I had not seen her since early that morning, and even he began to worry. He tried calling her as well, but eventually went up to bed.

I, however, could not fall back to sleep. I got up periodically and called for her, but she never came home. I finally fell back to sleep at around 3 am, but my dreams were haunting. I’d dream she was found safe and sound and a wave of relief would wash over me. But then I would wake up and realize she was still missing.

When the alarm went off I hurried to the back door and called for her, but no kitty came running. I sat at the computer listening for her trademark scratch on the front door, but again, no kitty. When it got light enough to see my daughter and I walked the street both in front and behind our house, looking to see if she had been hit, and were relieved to find no balls of fur on the side of the road.

As we were returning to our porch my daughter screamed “Mommy, Olive!!” and sure enough, there she was walking up the driveway. But something was wrong. I could tell one of her ears was disfigured and after she finally let me pick her up I could see her mouth was very bloody.

With a sinking heart I took her into the kitchen and quickly examined her. Ick. It was hard to look at. Something was seriously wrong with her mouth, but It grossed me out to look too closely at it. A glance at the clock told me we had an hour to wait before our vet opened, and other than her mouth wounds she seemed normal.

I gave her a little wet food, which she ate, and then she just sort of sat there. Our other cat Dodger came in and at the sight of a plate of wet cat food, headed straight for it. He took one bite, pulled back, circled it and then tried to bury it by pawing at the linoleum. It was odd. When he approached Olive he looked at her warily and made a very wide circle around her. Again, odd because he usually licks her until she swats at him.

My youngest was hysterical. She was sure that once we got to the vet they were going to put her to sleep. I told her that I didn’t think it was going to be that bad – other than her face, Olive seemed normal. And I was right. Once the vet examined her, her first words were “it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Thank you, God!

Olive had a fractured lower jaw, and the skin had been pulled away from her jaw, which was the bloody ick-ness that I had seen. It would have to be stitched back onto her jaw. The vet surmised that she had been grazed by a car, and probably skidded along the pavement which caused the injuries to her ear and jaw. Her lower jaw is wired together for the next 6 weeks and her ear? It’ll just heal on it’s own.

We are super lucky. For her to have collided with a car and have no injuries to her body is amazing.

We took her home later that afternoon, and she has been convalescing, laying in her favorite spot in the hall next to my daughter’s room. She looks a little goofy, but otherwise seems like the same old Olive, with one exception.

She is friendlier. Before, Olive could be quite aloof – a loner that needed little human interaction. But since she’s come home she’s been very loving…lots of rubbing and purring and welcoming scratches and pets. I think she realizes what a close call she had, and is grateful for our little house – her home and her family.

And we’re grateful she’s here too.

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My cats proved to me last night that they are made of more than just fluff and whiskers.

My male cat, Dodger has always proven himself to be resourceful. He likes to go outside in the wee hours of the morning for his pre-dawn prowl, but with no cat door in the house, he needs a human to release him into the black void where all things that creep and slither are fair game. That human is always me because I am the early riser in the family. And my boy is smart enough to realize this.

Weekdays are no problem for us. He hears the alarm go off at 5:30 and the first thing I do (after my morning tinkle) is let him out. By the time my tea water is ready, our female feline, Olive has decided to join her brother, and out she goes as well. It’s like clockwork.

But on the weekends I don’t need to get up at the crack of dawn. But Dodger could care less. There are all sorts of kitty activities that he is missing out on while stuck in the house! So, he will enter my room at 5:30 or so and start messing with stuff. His go-to move is the blinds. He’ll jump on the night stand and paw at the blinds which make a clatter that is impossible to sleep through.

I swipe blindly and usually send him to the floor. A few minutes go by and then the crying starts. If I’m able to ignore his mournful meows, he’ll come back in and start knocking things, namely my glasses, off the nightstand. By this time (6 am or so) I’m up.

Mission accomplished.

Olive, on the other hand, is never a bother. Until last night.

Someone forgot/neglected to refill their food bowl. Olive, feeling the need for a midnight snack, found her bowl kibble-free and was not a happy camper. So, she decided to just help herself. I was awoken by the sound of the cabinet door, behind which is the bag of cat food, being opened slightly and then banging shut. That clever little minx was trying to open the cabinet where the cat food was. She knew it was behind that door, and she was trying to get to it.

I found this astonishing! I got up and quietly filled the bowl, showering her with praise and sweet talk – none of which she was even remotely interested in. I climbed back in bed and after watching 2 episodes of “Family Ties” in the wee hours of the night, managed to sort of fall back asleep.

Dodger, who must have been pouting over his sister receiving all the praise, upped his morning wake up routine. In today’s dawns early light he managed to jump up on a very high shelf and began messing with my daughters collection of happy meal toys. One by one the figurines were knocked to the floor. Then he jumped in the middle of her Lego collection and in the process sent little teeny fireman and police officers scattering to destinations unknown.

Needless to say, I was up at 6:10 this fine, Saturday morning.

Do any of you have clever kitties? What do they do?

Das a Kitty

Each and every night, we make every effort to get both of our precious little kitties in the house. I sleep much better knowing they are safe inside, especially during the cold winter months. In the summer, they can always retire to the garage if they happen to miss their kitty curfew, but in the winter I worry about them out in the cold.

Last night I recall seeing our cute little tabby Olive sitting all puffy and proud on the living room carpet. When I got into bed our other cat Dodger was already busy making bread and purring away beside me, and I called out to my oldest to ask if Olive was still in. She said she didn’t think so, but she would be sure to call her. I was concerned because it was freezing last night, and although I was sure the bitter, biting cold would make her late night jaunt a short one, I really wanted her inside.

The first attempt to call her in was unsuccessful. This is not unusual as sometimes my little wandering kitty is a few houses away. She waited another 10 or 15 minutes and called her again. Still nothing. I just want her in out of the cold. All shaking the food bag resulted in was the other cat bolting off the bed and into the laundry room looking for a snack. Now I’m getting anxious and worried.

A half hour later, I am in a doze but wake up immediately when I hear the back door open. Again my daughter calls her and jiggled the door handle. I wait expectantly for the gentle scoldings of “where have you been?” upon Olive’s return, but the only sound I heard was the door closing. I finally fell asleep unsure of whether kitty had made a safe return to the  house. Every time I woke up to roll over I thought of her and hoped she was safe inside.

When I got up at 4:45, Dodger was ready and waiting to be fed and let out, which is his usual morning routine. Olive, on the other hand, tends to wake up slowly and bothers me to let her out at some other inconvenient moment during my morning. After a few minutes, I was fairly sure she never made it inside the night before, and I went to the back door to call her.

Still nothing. I checked in the garage, which we had kept open in case she needed a place to sleep, and found that kittyless as well. Now I was starting to get really concerned. As I drank my tea and performed my usual pre-dawn internet rituals, I thought about how much it would suck if she were in the road somewhere. Eventually I donned my slippers, grabbed a flashlight and headed outside to check the street in front of our house.

We live on a busy enough road to keep my imagination active with road kill scenarios, and I have to admit that each day I approach my driveway I am thankful that there is not a little pile of used-to-be-kitty on the blacktop in front of the house. As I called her name, I glanced up and down the street, and searched the ditch on either side of the road to be sure it was free of kitty carnage. Thankfully the only thing I saw was plumes of steam from my hot breath hitting the arctic air.

I went back inside, bummed to the core that Olive was still missing, but slightly relieved that she was not dead on the road. My oldest woke up early, which is a miracle, also panicky about her missing pet. As much as she hates the cold, she put on her jacket and slippers, grabbed the flashlight, and went out into the cold, dark night to call to Olive. She too came back fruitless, and we hugged.

A few moments later I heard the familiar scratch at the front door. I thought to myself “Please be Olive and not just Dodger, Please.” And lo and behold, in strolled Olive. I was so happy and relieved that I snatched her right into my arms. Her fur was filled with dirt and bits of leaves, which led me to believe that she was probably hunkered down in some pile of autumn debris, and she was also frantically scrambling to get out of my arms.

As I put her down, I noticed she was limping. She made her way back to my oldest daughter’s room, and slowly crawled under the bed. After feeding her a plate of well-deserved wet food, we let her find a nice, warm, quiet place to settle down for the day. I figured I’d wait and see how she was by this evening and then make the determination as to whether she needed to see the vet or not.

After getting home from work, she was still limping, and she gave me an annoyed “meow” when I tried to put any pressure on her little tootsie. She them made a hasty retreat under the bed. I’ll do a little research online to see if a visit to the vet is mandatory. If I have to I’ll call my vet, but I am trying to avoid what I’m sure will be an expensive trip.

I am just really and truly thankful to have her alive and relatively well. So if I have to pay through the nose, so be it.

Last night I saw Earth Wind & Fire in concert. They performed at a local outdoor theater that my husband happens to work at. I had a grand time, but this grand time involved too much wine (surprised?) and this morning I felt a tad muddle-brained. It was hard not to drink too much. My husband kept bringing me glasses of wine, on the house. There were times when I had not finished my glass and another one magically appeared. By the time my head hit the pillow last night, I was officially three sheets to the wind.

Enter Sunday morning where my daughter needs to go shopping for pants, the laundry needs folding, pancakes need to be griddled and the garage needs cleaning. And here I am all muddle headed for no good reason.

I think I have just decided that drinking is stupid.

While fruitlessly shopping for pants (daughter claims nothing fits comfortably) hubby calls my cell. This is a frequent occurrence – I go shopping and hubby makes a series of highly annoying phone calls reminding me to buy this or that or the other thing. I  hate getting phone calls while shopping. For one, I hate when people gab on cell phones in public, especially in stores. Two, I have no pad or pen to write down these newly necessary items which means I have to then zip around the store gathering these things lest they slip my mind.

A few of those calls came while we were at the store today. Riiiiiing! Buy Port Wine cheese. click. Riiiiing! Buy Windex. click. Annoying to say the least. Then, while we are in the changing room trying on our 8th pair of pants the phone rings again. This call had nothing to do with food or cleaners – it was far more sinister than that.

Seems one of our cats got into something smelly and sticky – most likely some form of fecal matter. She would need a bath, and I was to pick up baby shampoo. The smelly cat was locked in the bathroom, adding to my sense of urgency to get home. My leisurely trip to the store vanished.

I don’t shop well when I’m panicked or distracted. This is why I hate when I get phone calls while shopping. I need total concentration. Filled with a sense of urgency, I whipped around the store buying things in a pell-mell fashion and quickly headed home.

Upon my arrival I put my hair up, rolled my sleeves and got a bucket. I’ve never washed a cat before. She wasn’t happy being in the tub. I wasn’t happy having to handle her with shit matted in her fur. She scrambled and clawed in an attempt to escape the tub, but I held her firmly by the neck and crooned sweet nothings to her while I wetted her down, shampooed and tried to rinse her.

Discovery – Baby shampoo takes a looooooong time to rinse out of fur.

As I kissed her head and washed her fur, she was pretty good. She freaked out and scrambled when we had to turn the water on at one point, but she never bit us or tried to scratch. She was a good kitty and took her cleaning as well as could be expected. After a vigorous towel-drying we let her out on the porch and fed her a multitude of well-earned kitty treats. Our other cat, not wanting to miss out on the action, had a couple as well.

So here it is Sunday, and I’ve been to the store. Yet my kids have no stuff for lunch next week, and neither do I. This is why I can’t be distracted while shopping.

Oh, and I forgot the Windex.

I must wake you

On the last day of this long, holiday weekend I have come to the conclusion that as much as I love my kitties during the day, I hate their furry little guts at 5:45 a.m.

They are trained in the art of the rise & shine.

On weekdays I get up very early. I need time in the morning to have a cup or two of tea, peruse Facebook and fill out all my little sweepstakes entries for the day (don’t ask…it’s an experiment). In any case, the kitties have become used to the weekday routine. They don’t believe in sleeping late on the weekends.

So, every Saturday & Sunday morning they pay a little visit to me. Well, I shouldn’t say “they.” It’s really only Dodger, our black & white male. He is quite the scamp and makes no bones about letting me know it’s time to A) feed him, and B) let him out. His methods of rousing me from my slumber are varied, but all quite effective.

He may play with my glasses. That is never good because if they fall off the nightstand, I may never find them. Yes, I’m that blind. He’ll actually stoop to playing with anything in the room that makes a rattling, shuffling or clattering noise. How else is he supposed to wake me up?

And he’s clever about it too. He makes sure that what he is playing with is far enough away from me that I cannot just swat his fuzzy little fanny and send him packing. Even if he does mistakenly taunt me within striking distance, a swat never deters him. He may run out of the room, but he trots back in within a few minutes – I’m not sure where he learned the old adage, but this kitty adheres to “if at first you don’t succeed…”

Yesterday morning I got up and let them out at 6 am, and then actually went back to bed. I don’t usually do that – once I’m up, I am UP. This morning the cantankerous kitty managed to sound the alarm by knocking over a bucket of Lego’s in my daughter’s room. It’s hard to fall back asleep when your senses have been assaulted in that manner.

Up at 6 a.m. on a day off. A holiday.

The kicker is, he will scratch at the door to come back in an hour or two later. He will fill up on his kitty kibble, find a comfy spot, circle once or twice, plop down and go to sleep. Undisturbed. And I let him. Cause he’s so cute and because at heart I am an early riser. Just like my black and white little buddy.