Cats, by nature, are nocturnal and Miles and Rosie are no exception. I remember when I moved into my small apartment on
My new apartment in
In addition, Rosie has taken to scratching at things—digging in her litterbox, scratching at her food bowl, cleaning up after the wine I spilled on the carpet, etc. Her scratch-antics have gotten annoying, especially when she decides that the perfect time to go completely neurotic in the catbox is
I recently purchased a bed frame, which is still sitting in a box in the middle of my floor. One of the boxes has a small hole torn out of the side, and last night Rosie figured she would explore the box.
SCRRRRRAAAAATCH, scratch, scratch, scratch.
“Rosie, stop” I mumbled in a not quite awake voice.
Sweet silence. And then, SCRRRRRAAAAATCH, scratch, scratch, scratch.
“Rosie, please.” (As if she could understand my rationality).
SCRRRRRAAAAATCH, scratch, scratch, scratch
“ROSIE!!!” I yelled as I slammed my hand down on the bed to try to scare her away. Miles, who was asleep at the end of the bed, bolted, but Rosie just kind of looked at me. SCRRRRRAAAAATCH, scratch, scratch, scratch Thoroughly irritated, I got up, still half asleep, and fumbled around, looking for a can of compressed air that I spritz at them whenever I want to deter them from doing something. “That will teach her,” I thought. I had no idea where I put it, though, and since I was half asleep, I only had half a mind to try and figure it out.
As I bumped around my apartment, grumbling to myself and knocking things over, Rosie came over to me and meowed in her softest kitty voice as she rubbed her little body all over my legs. She just wanted some love.
It was then that I awoke and realized what was going on. I was the one that dragged them across country in a tiny cat carrier for a week, I was the one that force them to live in a tiny apartment with nowhere to stretch their legs and their minds, and now I was the one grumbling about them doing their normal kitty things and even trying to punish them for it. Now who is the jerk. It made me horribly sad.
I pet Rosie for a few minutes before I drifted off to sleep again. As I was just hitting that sweet spot of slumber, I heard:
SCRRRRRAAAAATCH, scratch, scratch, scratch
I can’t say that it didn’t annoy me any less, or that I somehow miraculously acquired the ability to sleep through the racket. But, I understood Rosie a little bit more last night (in all her ultimate weirdness), and probably slept better for it.
2 comments:
nice blog. meaty descriptions. best of luck to you erika in the northeast. you are missed.
so, now the wine i spilled on the floor is the wine you spilled on the floor. way to write me out of our life.
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