Hey there! I’m really glad you’re here. I hope as time passes, we find lots of things to laugh about together; lord knows we all need a bit of a laugh now–especially now. I know there are blogs I turn to on days I need a good LOL, and I hope this becomes one of those places for you. I’d thought about blogging on and off for a while, but I knew that a commitment was involved if it was to be worth anything! I must say that finally starting was due mainly to the encouragement of my dear cousin and my dear best friend, and I thank them both. I hope that here I’ll find others of like-minds. The wonderful gifts of imagination that come from our heads and through our hands, are to me something to celebrate and what I live for. I want to make things to which others find a connection and a joy, and I hope in so doing, find a bit of immortality for myself, too.
Okay, enough waxing on…see I warned you. I ramble. LOL
Let me tell you, blogging is a great evening activity for me. Tonight especially because I’m really not anxious to go to bed anyway. In fact I almost never want to go to bed. Oh, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that I have this nightly visitation by an evil gremlin-like creature: my ancient cat, Foozle (I knit, so of course I have a cat). Okay, so she’s not ancient, she’s 19. Frankly it’s a mystery how she ever made it past the age of 3, since she has this horrific habit of waking me (and my DH) up at least 5x/night, starting around 2:45 because she wants to be fed. My daughter woke me up less as a baby.
Foozle reclining in catmint
For many years I took care of this problem by leaving a bit of kibble in her dish right before we went to sleep. This plan was abandoned when the cat registered 15 lbs on the vet’s scale. She’s down to 10 lbs again, and I’m afraid this has given her new life (much to my DH’s dismay). Now, without kibble to appease her, we start the early morning hours with the rhythmic scraping of claws on my grandmother’s horrible old dresser (on my side of the bed).
After being chased from the room, she returns about 45 minutes later to rattle the wood blinds, lick plastic bags or magazines, or get her claws caught in the blanket on my side of the bed. I know she knows this all drives me crazy and is doing this on purpose because I see her staring at me while she’s doing it. My vet and I are in violent disagreement on this point of the cat doing it to bug me, but hey, the vet is not the one getting woken up over here, is she?
And then there’ s my poor hubby. There’s nothing like watching a grown man with size 13 feet try to step on a cat at 4 am.
Finally, ragged, I stagger into the kitchen (usually around 5 am) feed her, and stagger back to bed (you can tell I’m not a morning person, right?).
And, oh yes, I’ve tried it all: the water bottle-squirter (she does not fear this–she plays chicken with the thing), locking her out of the room (she scratches at the door or the rug, and even if you can ignore that, she’ll dash in when I get up to check on my kiddo), earplugs (I worry I won’t be able to hear the DD if she needs me), making sure to keep her separate from anything she could lick, chew, or scratch. Now, though, when the weather is nice, or when I really can’t take it any more, I put her outside. She’s got a cozy little house to stay warm in. I think she uses it. I can’t wait for it to start getting nice outside so I won’t feel guilty. I mean, I do love the little old monster. We are great cuddling buddies and she actually has a sense of humor. For instance, she’s happy to sit with her catnip mouse on her head as long as one of us is rolling on the floor with laughter. Little cat toys and little (live) creatures are deposited into slippers regularly (with the exception of the mouse who, we think, she dropped into the toilet when she was a kitten, all creatures are presented alive).
What I really don’t get about this cat is, she’s smart. Really smart. But, how can this smart cat be so dense not to realize that if she bugs me, ultimately she gets put outside. Hmm.
Lucky for her she’s not into yarn. Not even a little bit. I could sit on the couch for hours after dinner, knitting, and she’d sit beside me, watching, but not touching, a single strand of yarn.
And good for her, ’cause that’d be the deal breaker. 🙂