Every member but one of the Red household turned their clocks back Saturday night. Ah, sleep that knits the raveled sleeve of care, sleep that comes so much better after you hit the SNOOZE bar for the second time. Sleep that almost makes up for the short night the week before. Alas, it was not to be.“Mrow,” bounce, bounce, bounce. The clock is set for 0600. The calico cat is set for, well, only Bast and Sekhmet know, but I’d guess 0430. Cat, it’s not a weekday. The time changed this AM. Go away.
Nudge, nudge, push, push, stomp stomp. An 11 pound cat weighs a great deal more when she’s balancing on two paws, both of which are pressing firmly into your soft tissue.
“Athena.” Actually, what I probably said came out more like “Afmgrf.”
“Mreh” She walked across me a few times, flopped down and pinned me in place on my side, and then had an asthma attack just to make me feel guilty(er).*
She still didn’t get fed until 0600, but she made certain that I felt terrible about starving and mistreating her so badly. Except I didn’t, nor did I feel bad about running into her with the cabinet door when she wouldn’t get out of the way.
She then stalked off to sulk about the poor quality of service until it was time to harass me for her morning milk.
*What Athena has is not a feline version of human asthma per se, but a respiratory condition that is called “cat asthma.” She hunches down, sticks her head out to stretch her throat and makes a wheezy-barky-cough sound. She’s had breathing trouble since she arrived at Redquarters as a kitten 10 years ago, and it tends to get worse in winter as the air dries out. She probably aspirated G-d knows what, or inhaled fumes from something when she was hiding in a pickup’s oil-pan to get away from coyotes (four-footed version).