If we ever get another cat, I’m going to preemptively name it Widowmaker and cut straight to the point.
Recently we’ve taken a few trips out of state trips for various periods of duration (opposed to our instate trips of similar duration). All this has left our tan cat, Nova, feeling rather neglected, or at least he’s giving that impression. He wants to constantly hang around no matter what I’m doing.
For instance, flossing.
Flossing is our bonding time it seems. When he hears me brushing my teeth, he comes running in and starts meowing and stretching on the counter-side or along my leg, swatting at me to pet him and acknowledge he’s there. When I’m done flossing, I have to pull off a foot of string for him, hold it out, and he goes to town on it for a minute or so, then I dispose of it, and he’s content to hop up on the bed while we go to sleep.
Now, in my mind, sleep means getting rest. Sleep does not mean “Hey Walt! It’s 5:AM in the morning, it’s time to play!!!”
Try telling that to a cat, especially one with minty clean breath.
I’ve found that I can try to ignore him, but he’s discovered that with his claws, he can gingerly pull the covers off my head. I’ve even found that through will power alone, I can tune him out. Or used to.
He’s discovered, if not made from sheer premeditated design, that he’s got a single claw that is next to razor sharp. And, utilizing all the care in the world, it is possible to drag this lone claw lengthwise on some of my tenderish skin without drawing blood or scraping it in any way.
The net result is that it wakes me up very quickly. Please note that I did not say it wakes me up in a good mood very quickly, just that it was very quick.
And there’s a problem with that. One being that I’m not in the mood to play, and the second more pressing issue is that once you’ve been woken up with a full bladder, it’s harder to ignore than a cat that thinks chasing a piece of string borders on intellectual stimulation.
Once mobile and oriented which way is up, a delicate dance occurs as I try to find my way through a darkened room filled with obstacles without stepping on the very same cat that now thinks my moving legs are a slalom course.
Oh sure, I kick the snot out of him by accident, but he sends me reeling head first into corners of furniture long since forgotten. We have a great time. ‘Cause when we’re not doing that, we’re seeing if I can cut off the stream before he walks between me and the toilet with his tail as high as he can get it.
Sometimes this “have to be with you NOW” behavior extends into the day, particularly when I’m navigating stairs. Carrying something. That’s fragile. Or heavy. With my view obstructed.
This seems to be some feline game of amusement, with punishing repercussions dismissed by a wide eyed look of innocence. We all know it’s not.
So, the next cat I get, unless it’s had at least three legs amputated, I’m calling Widowmaker, cause the fall I took down the stairs nearly killed me.