Just Like Old Times


Kitty came home Saturday afternoon! There was much joy and happiness across the land. I was happy, Kitty was stalking around the land with a little thought bubble over his head reading “Bored Now".

Around 3:30am Sunday, the thought bubble shifted to “Hungry Now.” It broke my heart a couple of weeks ago to see him lieing around like the lead in an all feline production of Camille. It was very sad, but... When he wasn’t eating he was also wasn't waking me up at 4:45am to fill his dish either. But that at would have been fine. I was on vacation. Why do you go on vacation other then to be able to be traipsing around 4:45am consequence free?
Sunday morning he wanted to talk about the menu at 4:15, 5:05, 6:20 and 7:30. I finally got up at 8:00 and fed him. If I had gotten up at 4:15, I would gotten to skip the 5:05, 6:20 and 7:30 shows but he also needs to recognize that I am not going to get up and feed him just because he’s hungry. Dogger no doubt gets hungry in the middle of the night too, but you don’t see her bitching about it ever 30 minutes until I get up. Dogger also does not have free reign of my house either. She can bitch all she wants but she isn’t likely to take apart my kitchen either.

I didn’t bother waiting for my conventional alarm clock to go off and got out of bed when Kitty decided it was time to bring the fight to me and curled up on my chest and purrrrrrrrrred. He fights dirty.

Speaking of taken apart kitchens. When I got up, after I resisted Kitty’s 3:15, 4:10, and 5:30 wake up calls I discovered what he had been doing to get his mind off of his hunger – everything that had been sitting upright on the kitchen counters was now either on its side or in the middle of the floor. It looked like a tornado had been through there. He had tipped over the knife rack, the sealed (thank Gawd!) sugar container, a large plastic cereal container (empty), the salt and pepper shakers, two small Ikea mirrors that never found a home and thus live in my kitchen and the basket that holds my oven mitts.

I did get even with the little bastard. I caught up to him and stuck his pred down his throat, twice. He did not love that. I think he should have been grateful I was feeding him something.
Sunday, when I went to force feed him his drugs I couldn’t find them! I remembered giving him his dose the night before but everything after that was misty. I really had to find them because he’s on too high a dose just to blow off. I searched everywhere! I even looked where they were supposed to be. I started thinking about all the running around he did the night before and where on earth a little thing like a pill bottle might have ended up. I looked everywhere. I looked under the (oh the humanity!) stove, in between (eww!) couch cushions, under the (oh dear Gawd!) couch, the dinning room table on the chairs, under the table, in with the dogs food (because, in theory, it could have ended up there, possibly, if I woke up in the middle of the night and sleep put the pill bottle there) everywhere. I finally found it more or less where it was supposed to be. It fell off the lazy susan in the cupboard and got caught progressively more under it as I was hysterically twirling the damn thing looking for them. Sigh. He got his pills on time and I went back to bed.