Ah...another mild Saturday morning, and I am up way earlier than I want to be. Here at the micro-mini ranch we have a rare breed called, "the alarm clock cat." Boston is 14 years old, and very set in his ways. Unfortunately, his internal clock broke down awhile back, and anytime after 4:00AM is fair game. He's also never been able to tell the difference between a weekday and the weekend. Therefore all days are meant for waking before the sun comes up.
It might be safer to say he's part rooster. He starts crowing for breakfast usually around 4:30 AM. Pillows have been known to fly in his general direction when he gets his MEOW on. I also keep a water spritzer near the bed for when he really gets going. Unfortunately, once I get up to feed him, I'm usually wake enough that I cannot go back to sleep.
Today started off with Boston's typical RRRRRAAAAAWR, and my usual response, "SHUT UP."
Then his co-conspirator, Norm, who decides to up the stakes, invited me to play a game of Bed Mouse. If you've never played Bed Mouse with a cat, it's actually a rousing good time. But not at 4:45 in the morning. The rules are simple. If your foot under the cover wiggles, Norm will pounce on it and try to capture it with his paws and teeth. If you wiggle you foot even more, Norm will roll around on the bed in ecstasy, attempting to bring the Bed Mouse to submission. I am so good at this game, I can sometimes play it in my sleep. Not this morning, however. Norm has another talent that works in conjunction with Boston's alarm clock. Norm can pace up and down a sleeping person's body until he gets right over that sleeping person's bladder. And then he stands on that spot, and gets heavier, and heavier, and heaver. His little paws have these magic lead weights that suddenly appear. And the beauty of this talent is that he doesn't have to do anything. He just stands there on his opponent's bladder and gets heavier. It's a neat trick if you think about it.
Around this time, our dog, Muffett also decides that it's time for her morning constitutional. She will jump down off the bed, and pace at the foot of it. Her little nails go CLACK CLACK CLACK on the wood floors. She might give a gentle shake of her head, causing the tags around her neck to jingle in a merry fashion.
CLACK CLACK RRRRRRRRRAWR CLACK CLACK jingle RRRRRRRRAAAAAAWWWRR...
And as all this still hasn't worked (yet), the 3rd cat gets into the act. Celeste, our shy delicate flower of a cat will jump from the window sill, where she's been guarding us as we sleep. *POMPH!* Right into the middle of the bed. She will mince over the rumpled covers of the bed and meow in her tiny female cat voice, right in my ear. Just a single, tiny MEW. It's really such a perfect counterpoint to Boston's heavy-handed, disturbingly rooster-like siren call from the doorway (he doesn't dare get any closer, knowing he's in for a whack of the pillow or a face full of water.
With Norm growing heavier and heavier on my bladder, Muffett pacing down below, and Celeste being cute in my ear... HOW IS A PERSON SUPPOSED TO GET ANY SLEEP???
They aren't. That's the point.