Thursday, August 25, 2005

2 Meals a Day, Plus Snacks

I woke up yesterday morning and the cats were going berserk. My husband was up and out of the house before me, as usual, and had left me a note saying he had fed them, but the cats clearly disagreed. They were going bonkers around the food container, meowing like crazy, acting like insane cats. In their minds, the only benefits to being owned are that 1) food appears twice a day on a predictable schedule and 2) we introduced them to fleece blankets. They're like, "Ohhh, fleece! This is so much better than that time you put your cashmere sweater down on the bed for thirty seconds while you found the right bra and our shedding radars heard the sweet, sweet sound of cashmere knit from two floors away, and we galloped up two flights of stairs, raced into the bedroom, and leaped on your sweater so that by the time you turned around, we had managed to divest 50 cubic inches of cat fur on your brand-new, never-worn, very costly cashmere sweater. Fleece is SO much better than that!"

The food, however, is far more important in the grand scheme of things. Both my cats were strays before they came to us, so regular meals appearing at predictable times is crucial to their sense of well-being - and my sleep. I finally gave in and dumped a little extra food in the half-full bowls (as long as I add three or four kibble to the bowl, they think they've been fed), and they immediately ate breakfast #2 and calmed down.

I talked to my husband later that day, and it turned out he'd fed them at TWO IN THE MORNING on his way out the door (!) because he had two major filings due that day and couldn't sleep anyway for thinking about them. I told him about the cats waking me up complaining and going crazy until I fed them again.

"But I fed them!" he protested.

"Yes," I agreed. "But apparently feeding them at 2 a.m. is a bonus snack and doesn't count as a meal in their little pea brains."


That night, Mr. McGee went to bed early, clearly exhausted, and Orange Cat followed him up. Orange Cat loves sleeping people. They're warm and stay still.

When I came up an hour or two later, Orange Cat was firmly ensconced on my side of the bed and gave me the dirtiest look, like, "You seriously think I'm letting you get in bed next to your husband when I've claimed this nice warm spot already? You snooze, you lose, sister - you should have come up an hour ago and staked out your place!"

There was much meowy complaining when I moved his fat butt. I may not have as fully developed a look-of-death as Orange Cat does, but I do outweigh him considerably.

(All was forgiven in 20 minutes, of course, after he decided that I had suffered sufficient scorn and noticed that now I was providing a nice warm body to curl up next to. I do think he sat on my bladder on purpose at 5 o'clock this morning, though. Revenge served cold and all that.)

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