I haven’t slept well in months.
This contributes to a mild case of constant underlying rage, curbed only by the gorgeous spring days we are having and the resulting pleasure of playing in my flower gardens.
Rose, our regal (to hear her tell it) cat, occasionally slips into the house at night to cuddle with the boys. This drives the Rancher crazy. She used to be an indoor cat till she had 5 kittens and the whole rambunctious (jumping, climbing, tearing, playing, running, tipping, pooping in planters, flea-inviting, etc.) bunch was banished by said Rancher to the great outdoors. She has raised them all now and they are contributing members of cat society. She thinks things should revert to the way they were before the brats came along, and she should enter and exit as she pleases.
Endless family conversations have happened about whether she is an indoor cat, or an indoor-outdoor cat. He wants her to be an outdoor only cat. This sends the boys into convulsive fits of lamentation. He wants my support so he looks to me for agreement during these conversations. He doesn’t understand that her superb cuddling abilities surpass his, and that I too relish her snuggles. So I slowly avert my eyes, take a long draft on my delicious coffee, and return to typing my blog, oblivious to hullabaloo.
At 2.17am last night, the queen scratched on my bedroom door to inform her minion that she wished to exit the house and go a-prowling. I got up, eyes closed to deter a full awakening, and, muttering about how she really needed to be an outdoor only cat, walked to the front door. She bounded past me in the opposite direction and headed to the side door. I sighed in annoyance and, with one eye open at half mast, plodded my tired self to the side door where she waited patiently. I slid the heavy glass door open and inhaled the wonderful night air.
She paused a second and deciphered the myriads of smells that came at her as she normally does before she darts out. She didn’t move. “Go,” I said, my irritation mounting when she didn’t exit after a few seconds. I opened the eye fully to make out her dark form and put my foot gently behind her to help her out.
The vixen turned her venomous fangs at me and hissed like a cobra ready to strike. I hesitated to grab her and throw her out – given the aforementioned fangs and general sore attitude. She was not getting away with this ridiculous behavior!
“Oh no you don’t!” I hissed back, my eyes now both fully opened. I threw on the lights, stomped a few feet to the kitchen, and grabbed a broom, ready to launch her out the door and clear into tomorrow. I stomped back into the room, noisily pulled away the chair she was now hiding under and, like a champion golf player, poised the broom to tee and snarled, “I’ll show you who’s queen in this house!”
With angry, sleepy, light-assaulted eyes narrowed, I glanced at the exit to ascertain my 300 yard aim when, to my dismay, realized the screen door was shut!
I’d shut it earlier to enjoy the spring breeze and whoever shut the door didn’t slide it open. I was appalled at myself and heartbroken!
“You can be queen, Rose,” I apologized as I slid the screen door. “And you can be an indoor cat too!” I turned off the lights and shuffled with eyes closed to my bed next to the snoring Rancher. Boy am I glad he doesn’t read my blog. He’ll never hear about this.