My cat Sally stomped me awake at 5:30 this morning. Usually she waits until 6:00, but today she was especially anxious to get me to the bathroom where my duty lies in turning on the water in the shower stall for a few seconds so she can lick up the water on the floor. My son Doug finds this profoundly disgusting. Sally learned this behavior years ago from waiting for my husband to finish his morning shower then going in to lap up the leftovers. Sally has clean water in three different places in the house, so she is not desperate for a drink at any time.
After the morning drink she expects her breakfast to be served. Never mind that my aging body and mind are not half as quick to wake up and function as hers are.
When I say that she stomped me awake, I mean exactly that. She is a little tuxedo cat weighing about seven pounds, so stomping doesn't seem like something she could do. But she has the big round paws of a highly successful hunter and has learned to pound me with them. She stomps across my body to let me know when I should get up. If I don't get up right away, she stomps me a second time. Then if I'm still too stupid to crawl out of bed, things get ugly. Blood might be spilled. My blood.
Other than that, she is a sweet, precious little cat who keeps me company and has been my saving companion since my husband died two years ago. She didn't understand my long absences when I visited him in hospitals and rehab facilities during his long and painful illness, but she didn't punish me for them. She was just happy to see me when I came home.
And I was just as happy to see her.
We have worked out a daily routine which revolves around her eating, playing, and sleeping schedule.
Did I say WE have worked out a schedule? Foolish me. Scheduling is her job. Mine is to read the signs and behave accordingly.
No comments:
Post a Comment