Waking up at my House

Date: March 5, 2008
   
      You would think I would know - and I do, I do.
      If I move a limb, blink open one eyeball, rustle the covers, or, horrors, get up to relieve myself (older bladders being demanding), or put the dog out to do the same (she sleeps next to my bed), that is a signal to the orange striped part Siamese over 2 yr old she-devil that I am UP and my only possible reason for being up is, of course, to feed her!
      And she starts.
      She starts by chasing me into the bathroom, investigating the toilet, checking to see if I left a roll of toilet paper down in range for her to rip apart, or if I left an open box of tampons (one of her fav toys), or, Heaven help me, I forgot to hide my trouser socks. Although, by this time of the morning, the trouser socks will have already been mauled.
      Little teeth marks or claw holes will have been added to them.
      I think I have picked up the tampons she has gotten ahold of. Every now and then, one surfaces.
      It took her a week to learn to unwrap the cover, another to find that the cotton plug had a tail, and that, denuded of the applicator, she had a white mouse to drag everywhere. Hide everywhere. Every room.
      White mice. She went through a whole box one afternoon, scattering the wrapped ones. Every room of the house. Every single room. Every one.
      She proceeded to move forward with her hobby over the next month.
      After a month, I rounded them up. Still, when my son stepped in the door the other day, there was another one. Resurfaced from a hiding place I had missed I quess.
      He and his partner laugh.
      I'm just glad it was them, not a prospective buyer (house off the market), not someone else.
      (Like I'm dating. I'm sorry, did Hell freeze over?)
      After securing the bathroom, she follows my staggering steps to the kitchen, which is where she wants me.
      To be difficult, I often head for the family room, turn up the furnace in there, and turn on the TV.
      I flop on the couch so the blood can drain from my head (I sleep on my face) and my eyeballs can focus.
      She whines and cries the entire time. She climbs on me. She gets petted and held, she meows in my ear, and after getting sufficient contact, wriggles free and trots back and forth nagging.
      She has a high-pitched cry.
      Shouting at her, saying no, doesn't help. (It's fun, however.)
      She wriggles like a toddler. She can twist and squirm and turn into water in your arms. She tried this with my son, and she wasn't successful. It was hilarious to watch. She was annoyed.
      Me - she has my number. She can launch off my breast, which a nightgown does little to protect.
      I consider her a Slinky toy. They could take lessons. The inventor probably had a cat.
      She flows. She cries. She persists.
      If I go to the kitchen, I am apt to be tripped because she will herd me to the appropriate cupboard.
      She will rub it. And rub my ankles. She will wind around my legs, figure-eight my ankles, and ignoring her could get you falling on your butt.
      She will stand on hind legs to rub her face on the can.
      She will parade to the paper plate.
      Opening the can will cause ecstasy. She will bush up her tail. Halloween cats could take lessons.
      It will allow me some peace so I can make my coffee.
      Once in awhile, I will fix my coffee and leave the kitchen without feeding her. She will go hysterical.
      She can maintain the nagging for up to an hour. I timed her.
      She will eat the dry food in desperation and glower at me.
      And she will lay in wait. When I finally grab a can and open it, she will instantly arrive from wherever - she has marvelous hearing. And she can run, on those long legs, very fast, even if cock-eyed.
      I usually just give up and feed her. It allows me some peace and quiet. Until she starts complaining that the pillows are on top of the blanket she wants to crawl under on the sofa, or worse, I am actually using the blanket.
      Toilet lids are kept closed in my house.

Of course - typing is hilarious. She hasn't chewed a second ethernet line yet but has attacked the mouse and the speakers, and walks over the keyboard. Yesterday - she stepped on the power switch on the auxiliary power strip - turned off the DSL modem and a few other things (not the main system). Took me a few moments of panic to find the problem and another 10 to get everything back up to speed. Never a dull moment. Summer rules the house. Ignore her at your peril. Vet says she is - at 2 yrs - perfect. He doesn't live with her!