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Thump. Four pokey paws land on the bed and make their way across my back. I look at the clock, but I don’t need to. I know it’s about 5:20 a.m. He knows it too, and that’s breakfast time. I lie still, not moving except to breath ever so slightly. I open one eye and stare into his two big green ones, open full blast and green shining in my face. Next comes the purr in full throttle. “Busted” I think again.
He pulls his big orange body up, wobbling a little on his back legs, and jumps from the bed. I turn over for another few minutes as if none of this happened, and get ready for the following act.
Sure enough, another thump. His sister lands on the mattress now, a much lighter landing, but also much more determined. Instead of a green eyed stare, I get a very annoying and loud, meow, into my ear. I turn over and cover my head with a pillow. It’s too early, I yell in my head. Much too early. Another meow, louder than the first, desperate in nature and I worry about the people downstairs. They can hear her. They think I’m hurting her. Shhhh. I whisper out loud. She stares at me and opens her mouth with another MEOW, coming from the base of her throat. She turns and jumps from the bed as well. The clock reads 5:28 now. Stubborness is just as much mine as it is theirs. I turn over once more to try for a few minutes more of sleep.
Thump. Once again. Pokey paws across my back. This time staying there, and I feel the pokey pain of his weight. He knows it. I know he knows it. Okay, I yell out loud. I’m getting up. And he jumps to the floor once more.
But I don’t get up. And sure enough, Act 2 lands on the bed again, wailing like a baby. Defeated, I swing my legs to the side of the bed and get up. They sit side by each, and stare at me, angelic in their eyes. They turn and lead the way to the kitchen, their little butts matching colours, the white tips on each of their tails copies of each other. The same sway, the same destination. I follow along, their captor with unseen chains.
Two cans of Fancy Feast later, and I lie down again only to get up a few minutes later to make my way to the bathroom and get ready for work.
You need to train them, friends say into my bleary hooded eyes. You need to let them know who’s boss. Yes, I say, without explanation or defence. They are dog owners. Dogs live to please. Cats, well, cats. Only a cat owner, and I use that term loosely, knows what’s it’s all about.
Train them. Yes. I’ll do that. Right after they get their breakfast.
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