Get a cat, they said. It’ll be like a dog but without the effort. I’m making up these sentences as I go along (what else is new?) but the fact remains possessing a feline doesn’t require much work. Maybe I should spend more one on one time with them and maybe I should brush them more. That’s too many maybes. They’re good.
But are they? Possibly, I’m only just noticing this behavior now in going to bed nightly sober but there’s an awful lot of kitty krying going on after all us humans are behind closed doors.
I find myself indisposed and between the sheets doing my best to sleep and then it’s a veritable meow fest in the hallway. And what’s worse.. these two little knucklechucklers place a cat toy right outside my door and another right in front of the bathroom door, strategically as all heck.
The first few nights had me whipping the door open and quietly scolding these fluffy freaks with a bunch of ‘shhshes’. Later in the night when nature beckons my name I’ll step foot into the hall and right on top of one of these aforementioned play toys.
The good news is they’re soft. But the regular news is it’s still a bizarre feeling and again, stepping onto one by the bathroom pre-tinkle. I’ll kick them passionately as hard as I can, as though to say screw you to my so called pets. It’s three AM. It is not playtime.
After a week or more of this and it has me deep in poignant thought, like I’m Gandalf the Grey, puffing on a pipe and searching for history on the one true ring and what it all means. Are these cats, one Nigel and one Whitney, really this neglected day time that they feel the need to play these incessant night time rituals of non-existent play time?! What am I doing wrong and how can this be fixed without dropping two grand on a cat whisperer?
I feel like Nigel is the one to blame. Shame to say I can’t the difference in my cats voices but I have worse skeletons in my closet. Next payday I swear to God I’m looking into infrared night vision cameras.