Thumper Thinks Out Loud

Most mornings, unless the Spouse Thingy is home and asleep, the cat waits patiently for me to wake up; once 8 a.m. rolls around he feels like I’m fair game, and begins the process of getting my ass out of bed. If the Spouse Thingy is home, he stands in the hallway at 4:30 and hollers his little head off.

He’s like this walking furry alarm clock, and his timing is very precise.

However.

If I’ve had a hard time falling asleep the night before—last night I was still awake at 3 a.m., the result of stupidly allowing myself a short 45 minute nap yesterday—he will decide that I have to get up early. This morning he started in on me at 7:15, and I was not happy.

He meowed and crawled all over me, trying to get me to open my eyes; I grumbled and told him to go away. He meowed louder and head-butted me; I pulled a pillow over my head. He howled and stuck his head under the pillow; I reached for the water bottle and threatened to squirt him.

He ran.

But not a minute later, I felt his weight on the far side of the bed, and he crept very slowly towards me, and I prepared to aim and squirt. I was just ticked enough to not have a problem with getting him right in the face. If it had been half an hour later, I might have relented, gotten up to feed him, and then climbed back into bed. But there was no way I was losing this one.

He crept over the pillow—which was still on my head, thank you very much—and bolted for the squirt bottle, batting it out of my hand and onto the floor where I couldn’t reach it without getting up.

He then proceeded to celebrate by stomping victoriously across my chest and stomach, meowing happily, and I’m sure he was chanting “I win, you hafta get up. I win, you hafta get up…”

I got up.
I fed him.
I went back to bed.

Two minutes later he was back, standing on my chest, breathing the foul odor of whatever type of wet food I’d given him in my face. I opened one eye and told him he was lucky to be alive at the moment. He cocked his little head and meowed again, this time quietly, gloating, and I’m sure he was saying “You are so totally my bitch.”