Why the Cat Lady Went Crazy

In my house, I'm the boss of meal time. Me! Not them. I decide when it happens and I dole out the food. And I say that food time is 6 am and 5:30 pm. Period.

The cats are constantly fighting me on this and it makes me crazy.

This morning the fight continued.

The time was 4:45 am. Their goal was to get me to feed them. They were relentless.

Things were knocked off high surfaces. Papers were chewed. Pens were tossed. My cork board was ruthlessly clawed.

Ignore them, Teagan. I told myself. Reacting only validates what they're doing.

The dropping of pens and tearing of paper stops.

Silence. Finally.

Then I hear a slow, constant scraping sound.

What is that?

Something substantial is being pushed across my desk.

My lamp!

I have an IKEA lamp on my desk. It's fairly heavy with a metal base and an opaque glass lamp shade.

He wouldn't.

Skreeeetch.

He would!!

I flip on the lights. Raytinki, NO!

He looks at me with pleading eyes.

I look at the clock and the numbers blur into focus.

5:15 am.

Ah man!

I do the math (which is a tricky thing to do at 5:15 am). Okay, cats are fed at 6 and the clock says 5:15 but it's 15 minutes fast...which means there's...an hour to go. AN HOUR! Noooooooo.

I start an inner dialogue.

What to do? I can't feed the cats. They can't know their tactics work. And their tactics do work which means they won't let me sleep. I could do laundry. No, my back is stiff. If I carry my laundry downstairs I could hurt my back. I could watch part of a movie. No. I don't want to watch a movie. I want to sleep! I could lock them out of the room. No, they'll never stop scratching the door. I could feed them. No. NO. Don't give in. I'll get something to eat. And I'll read my book.

I have a plan.

I stumble to the kitchen and put english muffins in the toaster. The cats are swarming, making figure 8's around my ankles.

The english muffins pop up. I generously add butter and carefully make my way back to my room as the cats weave between my legs.

I sit on the floor and attempt to read. The cats rush at me, look back at their food bowls, and then head for my english muffins. I put my hand out to protect the muffins but the two furry heads of the cats keep bobbing between my fingers. Their tongues threatening to lick my early morning breakfast. I lift the plate close to my face and quickly cram the english muffins in my mouth between breaths.

I go back to reading. The cats look upset. They crouch down and scowl at me for the next half hour.

Finally, it's 6:00 am.

I drop my book and pick up their bowls. Gutteral cries bellow from below.

Bowls are filled. I reach down to put Raytinki's bowl on the ground and his whole body slams into my arm, almost spilling the contents of the dish. Raytinki, come on. Work with me here!

Both bowls safely make it to the floor. The cats plunge in. I crawl back into bed and turn off the lights. I'm the boss.

All I can hear now is their frantic chewing and gulping.

They're eating too fast!

I'm all too familiar with what happens when they eat too fast.

I say a silent prayer "Please don't let them throw up."

And I fall back to sleep.