Cats in the Age of Anxiety

The cats sleep with me,usually. Not all of them, but a good number of them. I go to sleep with Katy at my head, Mo somewhere on the bed, Dylan in my arms, and Taylor trying to get as close to my butt as she can. (I find this very disconcerting.)

I wake up with Dylan in my arms, Katy at my head, Gus at my feet, Sophie fleeing as soon as she realizes I'm awake, and Brianna fresh in from Briannaland prancing on the bed.

During the night, they have pushed me, crowded me, tried to sleep on my face (but it's warm there), slept on my head, around my neck, nudged up under my arms, crawled under the covers and tried to get beneath my pajama top (but it's warm there). God help me if I wake up at three o'clock needing to pee. It isn't a matter of hopping up, doing what I need to do, then settling back under the wonderfully snug covers. No.

Our Goddess is awake! We must arise and accept the manna she gives us! And if she tries to go back to sleep, let's get her!

Last night, I went to bed early. And I closed the bedroom door with all of the cats on the other side of it.

When I woke up, Dylan was repeatedly hurling himself headfirst into the door. When I opened the door, he leaped into my arms. Everyone else was all freaked out, too. So we went into the kitchen, I fed them their daily ration of canned food, and then I settled in with my cup of coffee to write in my diary as I do every morning.

Wrong. So many feelings were bruised and anxieties raised during the night that I broke up three fights, escorted Butch to the litter box, kept Mo from attacking Butch while he was in the litter box, pulled Mo off of Butch after he finished in the litter box, and chased Taylor away from Mo. (If the cats see me scolding another, they all go after the scolded one.)

I had to go around soothing them all. When the cats fight, the first thing for me to do is to break it up, although it's usually over by the time I get to the scene of the crime. When it goes on, I break it up. Then I have to go find the guilty parties and separately soothe them.

Taylor is a terrible scrapper. Once I get her away from whoever she's been picking on, I then have to pick her up and pet her until she calms down. Cats don't see this as a reward for bad behavior. They fight because they're anxious, they don't know where they stand and they need to be reassured that all is as it should be.

They're all sleeping now. Sometimes I wish I had one of those air horns obnoxious people use at sporting events.