I haven't used an alarm clock in years, but every morning, despite whatever activities I indulged in the night before, I'm up by 8:00. Why is that? Let me set the scene. Around 7:15, my four cats begin performing their daily, hunger-fueled passion play. Gosalyn, the aging tabby, jumps onto my wobbly nightstand and proceeds to gently rock it back and forth, all the while monitoring my level of somulance. If she decides I'm not sufficiently engaged in her antics, she'll start batting the metal chain switches on the tableside lamp. This is the cue for Nguyendell, our youngest to begin his clumsy patrol of the headboard. Back and forth, back and forth he saunters, generating the sound of claws scrabbling against wood and balance-correcting maneuvers. Now Nippy hops up onto the foot of the bed to see how he can contribute. He's fat and sweet and contents himself to sniff gently at my face, tickling me with his whiskers. He punctuates this with soft, breathy baby mews, right in my ear. The final participant is Lena. She has no particular routine, but somehow manages to incite a WWF cat throw-down. Suddenly there are cats wrestling all over the bed, popping each other with deft rabbitty kicks. Just this month, they've added a new knock-out move to assure I'll get my ass out of bed. Whichever cat can manage it will climb atop the headboard and then leap off, landing square on my chest. At this point I join in with a loud stream of pre-coffee sailor smack and send them flying in all directions.
I'm amazed at their creativity and persistance. Just this morning, Nguyendell discovered that he can actually climb up into the boxsprings through a hole in the netting. I felt like the character from The Princess and the Pea as I felt his head butting up against the underside of my body.
You got cats? You know what I'm talking about.
As annoying as it is, it's reliable and often cracks me up. I haven't been late for work in years.
You can view my little buggery brood here: