This morning I woke up at 5:30. I don’t usually get up quite that early but there was thunder and lightning and I opened my eyes and sneezed (stupid allergies). Blam. I’m awake and its a whole hour ahead of when my alarm usually goes off. You think that would get me out of the regular morning feline persecution. Nope. Bad cats never take the morning off.
My cats push me around. I complain about it on the blog. You all make with the sympathy. That’s our routine right? Good. Because we (me and the bad kitties) do this every morning:
I sit up in bed, put on my cross and start muttering my morning prayers. Feline Overlord, who has been sleeping at the foot of the bed, walks over my legs and bats at the cross. She bites at it. She paces back and forth in my lap, purring and kneading on my thighs and glaring at me. This sets off Boy Cat. He races in from the other room, charges up the cat tree to the top shelf where lays over on his back and spins around and around. I think he’s chasing his tail but I’ve never really asked.
I swing my legs out of bed and Feline Overlord races off to the bathroom. She always beats me there. She is always sitting on the toilet when I turn on the light. I pick her up, I put her on the floor. She cries at me. I open the lid and sit down to, ah, do my thing. She jumps up in my lap. I pick her up. I put her on the floor. She cries at me. Boy Cat comes in to rub against my legs while I, ah do my thing. Feline Overlord doesn’t like that. (I don’t either but no one seems to care so much about my feelings on the matter.) She hisses and spits at him and then they wrestle right at my feet while I ah, finish doing my thing. Then I flush. That’s the signal for them to stop fighting and race off to the kitchen where they cry impatiently as I wash my hands.
By the time I make it to the the kitchen they are both pissed at me for taking so long. I collect yesterday’s cat food plates and stick them in the dishwasher. Feline Overlord is on the breakfast nook ledge crying at me. Boy Cat is weaving between my legs crying at me. I open the refrigerator because I keep cat food in there. Boy Cat tries to walk in. I pick him up. I put him on the floor. I open up the pantry closet because I keep really good cat food in there. Boy Cat tries to walk in. I pick him up. I put him on the floor. I get new, clean plates and I fill them up. By this time the cat-crying has reached such volume that I’m always surprised the neighbors aren’t banging on the walls. Feline Overlord is furious that this is taking so long. Boy Cat is convinced he will be abandoned to starve to death.
I walk the food plates over to the food place and try not to trip over Boy Cat who by now is gluing himself to my legs. Feline Overlord gets her breakfast first because she is The Head Cat. I set down her plate. She sniffs it. She frowns at me. She walks away. You see, she doesn’t eat breakfast. She has to nap first. Then maybe she’ll come back and have a few bites.
Finally I give Boy Cat his plate. By this point he is weak with hunger and near collapse. Poor baby. Even so If I don’t pet him three times, exactly three times, he can’t eat. He’ll pace back and forth in front of his food and howl. But if I pet him three times, exactly three times, he’ll inhale all that food in less than 30 seconds. I don’t think he even chews.
Then I make my coffee. I just want to point that out. THEN I make my COFFEE.
We do this every morning without fail, even when its dark and rainy and thundering outside and not even, you know, morning yet.