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Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Blizzards and Fur Coats

After last night, I am no longer the human of six cats. I am the human of one cat and five potential fur coats.

I haven't decided which cat gets to continue breathing.

They were all unbearable last night.

They took turns, of course. It started at 1:11 AM. Is there some cosmic significance to that number? I don't know. I don't care. I only care that some kind of cat-tag started and continued every hour on the hour until I finally stopped pretending to sleep about 4 AM.

Oh, I got up each time and tried to find the players, but they were too clever. They found places to hide in plain sight. Curled up in chairs and boxes, blinking at me with a "what are you doing up, mom?" even though at least two of them had to be involved. 

And the cats who weren't playing tag where either yelling at me or harassing the dog. For once, the dog got involved. My unflappable Sweetie got flapped by all the commotion and snarled and snapped on more than one occasion. She even jumped on the bed sometime between 3 and 4, I assume because at that point it felt more like a Sunday afternoon than a Tuesday early, early morning.

Should I have figured out what was happening and shut them in the basement immediately?

But my brain doesn't work in the dark. By the time I realized this was a chronic incident, it was too late - or too early - to make any difference. Plus, I couldn't catch the little bastages.

So here I am, bleary-eyed and seething, with a sleeping cat who refuses to leave my lap no matter how many times I stand up and/or move her, surrounded by other furballs who get to laze the day away while I must brave the coming blizzard to earn the money to feed the little creeps who keep me up all night.

It's no wonder I look exhausted in all my recent photos.

Since this particular brand of nocturnal craziness has not happened in recent memory, I choose to believe the coming storm set them off. God willing, once it passes, we'll all be back to normal, or what passes for normal in this house.

Until then, they will be in the basement. Otherwise, momma may snap and make herself a new fur coat.

Why not? I'll be up.


  1. Yea, this is probably why Mica is on your lap and won't leave. She is just wanting to make sure you understand that she loves you and doesn't want to be a fur coat.

  2. She'd make a very poor coat. I doubt I could get one glove out of her tiny body.


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