I was having trouble sleeping last night, so I moved out to the couch, a change that usually has me snoozing like a baby in no time.
But sleeping in the living room also exposes me to the daily efforts of our cat to make sure we understand that A) he’s hungry and B) it’s time one of us gets up to feed him.
The Wife usually bears the brunt of this attack, as she sleeps closest to the bedroom door and she’s almost always the first one of us to get up in the morning. Miles understands this perfectly, and is usually content to sit next to the bed — we sleep on a futon, so he’s right at face level — when he starts in on her.
The approach is usually subtle at first: quiet meows, little chirping noises and maybe standing on the bed so he has better access to her face. It escalates quickly, though. The meows get louder. He starts jumping on and off the bed in between us. If he’s desperate, he’ll even take a shot at working on me. And once in a while, he’ll stand next to one of us and gently place one of his front paws on The Wife’s face, usually her mouth. That trick is hard to ignore.
I have the sense that he started a little early this morning, and when The Wife shushed him a couple times, he moved to the living room to work on me. Meowing. Jumping on the couch. Louder meowing. A check in the bedroom to see if The Wife had stirred. And then back to the couch to check on me.
It’s a little bit like this, minus the ending:
Desperation apparently set in. I know this because he started running, doing laps around our small apartment. He occasionally stopped to smack around a little plush ladybug toy that emits an electronic chirp when struck.
The chirp isn’t loud, but the pitch is high enough that it pierces through sleep almost instantly. I think it was designed that way.
While listening to our 17-pound cat thunder through the house, I noticed a similar noise coming from above. Our neighbor’s cat is apparently on the same schedule, and she apparent uses similar tactics. The house was filled with thumping cat noises. And, apparently, no one was moving towards the kitchen soon enough.
Until Miles completed what I’m sure was an impressive flying leap onto the couch. I gave in. And went back to bed.
Thinking back to the video: It’s probably a good thing both of our baseball bats are stored in the basement.