Catty Friday
The cats are evidently enjoying their weight-loss cat food more than they did before. I say this because I fed them before I went to bed. This is strategically done so I'm not awakened by furry feet scampering over my head or shrill meows at 4:00 AM protesting the lack of food in the bowl. Typically filling the bowl before bedtime prevents an early morning torture session, but somewhere I made a miscalculation, because this is exactly what happened.
Now most of the time I'm a reasonable person, logical and accepting that in situations I don't like that I should suck it up, deal with it and move on. This is what I should have done this morning, but I did not. Get up, check the bowl, and go back to bed. Long experience has taught me that no matter how many times you throw the cat off the bed, or yell at him to shut up, it just isn't going to happen....it just perpetuates the situation...I don't sleep and the cats stay hungry.
I was neither logical nor reasonable this morning. I yelled at the cat, I flung the cat, I shifted violently in bed so the cat would leave, but the cat persisted, neigh insisted that the bowl was empty and I get up to feed him and his brother. I feel that it's important to emphasize that I was under the delusion, and this is backed up by past example, that since I had fed them before going to bed that there was still plenty of food in the bowl. When I finally acquiesced and arose from my non-slumbering state I did indeed find that the bowl was empty. I hate it when the cat is right.
An interesting, perhaps amusing, aside is how my two cats participate in this morning ritual of torture. First, a little background, they are littermates, brothers and unquestionably different from one another, apart from bearing the exact same color and markings. One is big and bulky, shy and anti-social. The other is small, skinny and annoyingly social. He craves it and thrives off of it. If you come over he'll be in your lap purring quaintly in about ten minutes.
But I've digressed. Getting back to the point, the small one is the actual perpetrator of said torture, scampering, needing and meowing on my non-slumbering form as I try to escape under the covers. It's hard to explain how disturbing it is to roll over, as I try to throw off the small one, and see the statuesque figure of his brother standing in the hallway, staring malevolently at the goings-on. If I didn't know better I'd say he was smirking.