Annoying Things My Cats Do, Vol 1.

Okay, so I guess I already broached this topic with the potholder post a while back, but cat ownership is such a multi-faceted experience full of magic and wonder. How could one post hold it all? It can't. Welcome to "Annoying things my cats do." I promise not to post on this title more than once a week.

This week's winner: Gilbert (and his feline battering ram of death).

We sleep in a modest queen sized bed. It suits Andy and I quite well. It does not however suit me, Andy, and three cats (one of them rather large). And yet, this is where we all prefer to sleep. Naturally this causes some conflict. Gilbert, Mischa, and Stewie regularly claim various spots on the bed. I believe that the higher the level of irritation a spot causes, the more desirable it is to a feline.

Gilbert, for example, prefers to rest his ample girth directly on a human's ankles, thereby cutting off the blood flow to the feet and making a shift of position impossible. Stewie prefers to wedge himself near the spinal region of a sleeping human so as to prevent them from rolling over without squishing him and being treated to razor sharp claws in the back. Mischa likes to lay wherever it is that is most natural for one to stretch out a foot. When said foot approaches her position she protests with frightening deep throaty growls and quick flashes of teeth and claws as she violently attacks the bump under the covers. I told you she was psycho.

It would likely make sense to you then, that on occasion, in a foolhardy gesture of independent defiance, we have attempted to lock the cats out of the bedroom while we sleep. I believe the record for keeping them out is approximately 12 minutes. This is mostly due to the efforts of the older statesman, Gilbert, and his battering ram of death. Let me set the scene for you.

*Andy and Cyndi, giddy at the thought of a good night's sleep without cats rush to the bedroom and close the door. Cats safely trapped on the other side of the door, Andy and Cyndi hop into bed and spread out in extravagant space hogging poses and drift off to sleep.* Then it begins.

Mew. Mew. Mew. Meow. Meeeow. Meeeeeeoooow. Meeeooooow! MROW!

*Cyndi shoves her head under the pillow and prays that they will go away. She breathes extra shallow thinking, "Maybe if I am extreeeemely quiet, they won't know I'm in here." Miraculously, the meowing stops. And then...*

Bump. Bump bump. Bump bump bumpp bump bump. CRASH! *This is the sound of Gilbert, attempting to use his massive bulk to break down the door. Again, Cyndi and Andy ignore him, and wait for the din to die down. Surely they will tire and go away. Surely. The banging stops for a moment only to convert to plaintive meowing, once again.*

MREOOOOUW! ROOOOOOOW! Meow! Squeek! (Stewie has become stressed out by Gilbert's wailing and joins in.) Mroooooow! Squeeeeeek! Meeeeeeooo! Squeeeek! Bump bump bump! Bump! Squuuueeek! MROOOW! Bump! Crash!

"We can't let them win," Cyndi says aloud. "We have to be strong or they'll never stop."

Scratch. Scratch scratch scratch. Bump bump scratch. *At this point, being unsuccessful in battering the door down, Gilbert has decided that he will simply tunnel under it Alcatraz style with his claws by pulling the carpet up in chunks.*

Scratch scratch! Squuueeek! Mrooooow! Bump bump bump! Scratch scratch! Hiss! Yoooowwl! Grooowwwl! CRASH! (Mischa has now figured out that she is locked as well and when she comes to the door, she and Stewie get into a slapping match.)

"Fine! Fine!" Cyndi screams, jumping out of bed. "You win!" She yanks open the door. "Come on then! Get in here." All three stare up at her wide eyed and innocent, as if to say, "Oh, hi! You must have left the door closed on accident. We just wanted to make sure you knew we were here." They saunter off in various directions. Not a single one attempts to come in. At least, not until after Andy and Cyndi have fallen asleep and they have the opportunity to jolt them awake by leaping up onto the stomach or using a dangling limb as a rope ladder.

Ahh the joys of cat ownership.

You know you want one. Here are some pictures of mine, in case you need inspiration.

Stewie: You said I couldn't sit onto the counter. You said nothing about lounging on it. (Notice my Rambo squirt bottle in the background begging to be used.)

Gilbert: Are you sure there isn't anything I could poop or vomit on for you? It's no trouble, really.

Mischa: Cat food is nice and all, but what I'd really like is a nice helping of... your soul!