stupid cat tricks

So what do you do when you realize someone's opened up your cats' heads and replaced their brains with copious amounts of manure? Here the story begins.

I recently got a new chest of drawers. Well, it's an old chest of drawers from my mom who's getting rid of a buncha stuff before her Florida move. So I got a dresser I'd used back when I was a kid plus my old old old railroad train lamp (a lamp made out of a model train boxcar) which goes very nicely on the dresser and makes me happy every time I look at it.

At any rate, this piece of furniture completely and utterly intrigues and baffles the two inbred furballs I call my cats. They spend hours sitting on the floor looking at it. In fact, in front of the dresser has now become their favorite spot in my room, and I'm not exactly sure why. This has inspired some incredible feats of acrobatics, though -- at one point Martha leapt up and batted a piece of paper off the dresser in mid-leap, much like someone'd deflect a basketball shot. Her prize? A crumpled-up grocery receipt. Way to go Martha. It was an amazing leap, though.

The two cats have also taken to having Samurai Duel flybys by the dresser, including one spectacular scene where Abbie turned himself around in mid-air to kick Martha's oncoming form with his hind claws. Wish I could've been able to film that in slow-mo with breaking glass all around and a kick-ass techno soundtrack. And when they're not leaping, they're holding Sissy Bitchslap Fest 2000 where, I swear, they stand about 2 feet apart and bitchslap the air in front of each other until one runs away. YAY YUO SCARD OTHAR CAT U WIN!!!!!!111

But last night was truly a horrible night. Amusing antics gave way to aggravating behavior and much hostility. I had to kick the cats out of my room around 1:30 in the morning because it was clear their games were not conducive to me getting any sleep. So Abbie stood outside by the door and started headbutting it and scratching it with his claws. Every 15 minutes he'd start up with this, and go away only when I opened the door and nudged him away. 15 minutes later, he'd be back, just as I had settled back down into bed and gently progressing from Stage 1 to Stage 2 sleep.

Needless to say, this made me very very very angry. I don't like being woken up multiple times at night, and especially not by a selfish cat who has determined that life as we know it cannot possibly continue without his presence in the bedroom. Every time I yank open the door and hiss obscenities at him, he blithely strolls into the room, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he's this --> <-- close to being locked in the bathroom for the rest of the night.

Eventually around 2:30 or 3 I relent and let him into the room. I don't want the carpet in front of the door scratched up any more, and I certainly can't sleep with his constant headbutting. So he strolls into the room as if he owns the place and settles in the computer chair. I head back to bed. 10 minutes later there's a rustling and a clank, and I once again jolt awake with a start.

The stupid fucking cat has gone and climbed onto the windowsill and gotten his head stuck in the venetian blinds. It's actually a pretty funny sight, mind you -- rarely do you catch a cat in the act of being a bonehead (you usually just have to deal with the consequences) and he'd lost all dignity, I think, for smooshing his head through the blinds and not being able to move it back out. Still doesn't make it any less infuriating.

So I get up and free him from the evil blind monster. Abbie thanks me by attempting to eat the pullcord. I say "Out, OUT, OUT" and shoo him out of the room, and that's when Martha decides to get stuck under the dresser. There's only 3 or 4 inches' worth of space under that dresser, but Martha finds a way to smoosh herself down under there. And she's decided that she won't come out, if only in the interest of self-preservation (if Abbie gets in trouble both cats get the Boot from the room. It's the rule.)

I remove the bottom drawer from the dresser and pull Martha out that way. She is very confused and not at all happy. Ha! Didn't think of that happening, did you, cat? Both feline nuisances are now out of the bedroom and I take the extra time while I'm up to make sure Abbie is sitting on his favorite spot in the couch ("There. Now you have a comfy space to fall asleep on and you will not bother me any more tonight you got that you stupid chucklehead?") and their food dish is relatively full and their litterbox isn't a mess -- cats with messy litterboxes have been known to protest mightily.

Everything is in order so I go back into my room and blissfully fall back asleep, pillows over my ears to hopefully block out any more headbutting. At 6:30 there is a loud series of booms. th-Boom. th-Boom. th-Boom. th-Boom. Martha is in the bathroom, happily jumping around in the tub. Presumably she's trying to duplicate her famous leap-and-bat trick to knock the bottle of shampoo off the top ledge. This tub is a hollow fiberglas shell, so the noise practically reverberates throughout the entire apartment complex. th-Boom. th-Boom. th-Boom. I simply cannot believe what I'm seeing right now.

My goddamn cat is jumping in the tub.
Jumping.
In the tub.

What in the name of all that is good is happening? Did I not notice "BATSHIT INSANE CAT WEEK" on my calendar or something? Martha gets the Pick-Up-And-Cradle-In-My-Arms-While-I-Lecture-Ineffectively treatment, and for good measure I take all the soap and shampoo out of the shower shelves and into the bath closet for the time being. Martha runs off into the kitchen.

Abbie, meanwhile, has nudged the bedroom door open and gotten his head stuck in the blinds again.

I finally give in. They've won this round. I leave the bedroom door wide open, extricate the cat, and pull up the window blind a few inches so he has a free spot on the sill. He spends the next four hours looking out the window. I spend the next four hours trying to cram as much sleep as I can, figuring I'm a contractor, I have the right to go into work late some days what with flexible schedules and all.

There are those who say owning cats is for those whose parental instincts have kicked in yet the urge to actually replicate is not prevalent. Although I have no actual physical spawn with which to compare the experiences, I'd say it's very close to the truth, especially when you have cats who act like rambunctious toddlers. I know 2-year-olds who would love to get the chance to jump in the tub and get their heads stuck where their heads shouldn't go. I have seen parents I know sit, glassy-eyed in the park, and flatly moan "Put it down, Ross. Take that out of your mouth. Get down from there. Don't hit your sister with that. Ross, put it down." like they was mantras or something. When I found myself blearily offering the cats cash bribes to stay off the windowsill last night, I knew I, too, had sunk to a new, all-time low, and there's no end in sight.

I trust everybody else's cats have been perfect little angels in the last 48 hours?

Take care, and don't eat anything you shouldn't.