~~ "She has so many aliases, you'd think she was a spy!" ~~

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Damn cat

[written last night]

3:30 am  Realize it’s half an hour past my bedtime. Text Ken to that effect. Head into bedroom to drop off book to read and turn on bedside light; discover cat has pooped on upper part of bed (near but not on pillow). Poop is mostly dry, but attempts to clean off residue fail. Stupid hyper-sense of smell. Strip bed, head downstairs with icky sheets, intending to find clean sheets.

3:35 am  Discover cat puke in dining room (hairball + extra, yay). Ken returns phone call. However, he forgot to charge his helmet during his last stop. He’s just getting back on the road. Dump old sheets on washer, obtain new sheets. Bash foot into coffee table in media room while heading in to give both cats scritchies. Lose connection with Ken.

3:45 am  Ken texts to say helmet is dead. Clean cat puke off dining room floor, pondering the fact that the wood isn’t treated and technically shouldn’t be cleaned with a wet cleaner. However, spatters of cat puke successfully removed. Feel conflicted.

3:55 am  Remake bed. Take evening medications. Discover phone is missing. Go back downstairs, retrace route, give cats scritchies again, find phone on arm of media room sofa.

4 am  Plug phone in. Write blog post; decide to send after I wake up. Limp off to bathroom to brush teeth, etc., hoping for no more excitement except in the book I'm intending to read.

9 am (projected): Cat will start stomping on bed and miaowing in the hopes that I will wake up and feed him. If I fail to comply, he may repeat the previous morning’s attempt to wake me, which involved albeit very gentle claws raked down a sensitive portion of my anatomy that was exposed thanks to the morning being overly warm.

[written this morning]

9 am  On the nose. Damn cat.


TeresaNoelleRoberts said...

You're a better cat-parent than I if you were giving the critters scritchies at that point instead of cursing them or at least pointedly ignoring them until morning. Accidents happen, but finding poop on the bed at slightly-past-bedtime would make me an unhappy cat-mom.

Dayle A. Dermatis said...

I can't blame the cat for not feeling well - he either did it because he was feeling sick or because he's upset (maybe that Ken's gone). So blaming him for expressing his discomfort in a way he understands doesn't make anything better.

Plus, I love my cats, and they're old and won't be around much longer. Ignoring them rather than giving them scritchies (which I get as much out of as they do) means a lost opportunity that I'd regret later.

And while the incident was annoying, I'd rather tell it as a funny story than grump about it. Shit happens - literally! - and stressing about the small stuff is a waste of energy.