I don’t know whether to be impressed by the cat’s intelligence, or pissed off by his showing it off. If he’s not showing off, he’s just a stubborn, mean little chit who hates the idea that I’m sleeping when he’s not.
The Spouse Thingy started work this week. Max keyed into his morning absences quickly; on Day One he felt pressed to wander into the bedroom right after the Spouse Thingy left—sometime around 5 a.m.—to announce that he’d left the house. He stood at the bedroom door and hollered his little head off, until I threatened to squirt him or throw things at him.
Day Two, same announcement. Evidently I am to be made aware that my other half is up and off to work. But after the initial announcement and empty threats of bodily harm, Max curled up on the bed and slept until he felt I need to get up to feed him.
Day Three, the Spouse Thingy did not have to go to work. But when he wasn’t up at the appointed time, the cat began to worry, and let me know. Loudly. And often. In fact, he didn’t stop until the Spouse Thingy did get up. After his breakfast, he felt compelled to pester me until I finally dragged myself out of bed.
The next two mornings, as the Spouse Thingy left for work, the cat continued his announcements. “The Man has left the building,” I’m fairly sure he’s saying. “You may turn over and go back to sleep, until I feel like licking your eyelid or shoving my nose up your closest nostril.” Once I was sufficiently annoyed, he jumped up on the bed, plopped down on my legs, and went to sleep.
And this morning…holy crap. Max started in at 4:30 this morning, trying to convince me to get the Spouse Thingy up. Since he was snoring, he slept in the spare room (the Spouse Thingy, not the cat) with the door closed, so Max has to work especially hard. He stood in the doorway, hollering his little head off, then he would wander down the hallway to yell at the closed door, then back to the bedroom. I aimed the spray bottle at him, but he’s learned where he can stand to avoid getting wet. And then he sits there and mocks me with his little kitty voice, and I’m fairly sure he’s laughing at me.
That furball didn’t shut up until the Spouse Thingy opened the door. And even then, he occasionally popped into the room to make various announcements. As near as I could figure they were, “I have been fed now. And it was very good shrimp and tuna. You should come out and try some,” and “I am going to use the litter box now,” followed by, “I have now finished using the litter box. You might want to light those candles in the bathroom…”
He finally shut up for good when I peeled myself up around 9 this morning.
But…he knows when the Spouse Thingy should be getting up for work. He doesn’t know about days off, obviously, but he’s determined he’s going to make sure he gets him up and out the door on time. And he’s positive I need to know about it; on the days the Spouse Thingy works, I am to be told he left on time. On days off, we’re all to be warned of imminent doom, because obviously if the Spouse Thingy does not get up and go to work, there will be no more shrimp and tuna.
And obviously, I am not allowed to sleep if Max’s little world is not Just So.
So yeah, he’s either very intelligent, very mean, or both.
I think while he’s napping today, I’m going to stand by the bed and holler at him, stick things in his ears, and head butt him. See how he likes it.
No, I won’t.
But I wanna…