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.

Smackdown! Ringside at Coffee Heaven

In the five joyous (no, really) months that I've been working at Unnamed Co., I have shifted my morning coffee stop from Mr. and Mrs. Sanjay at Coffee Heaven West to Ahmed, Mohammed, Lucita, Carlo, and Luis at Coffee Heaven East.

Coffee Heaven East is in more of a crossroads area than West. The morning's customers range from Italian stonemasons to Verizon linemen to stockbrokers and project managers.

Yesterday on my way to work, I was running a little bit later than usual (cuddle with Anon Boy) and found what looked to be fundamentally the same sort of folks standing in line.

I got in line and ordered my medium light and sweet and a muffin when I heard a scuffle behind me.

When I turned, I saw a Latino gentleman (approximately 5'5", 140 lbs.) facing off with an African-American gentleman (approximately 6'3", 300 lbs.). LG stripped off his coat, flung it on one of the empty tables and said, essentially that he did not approve of the cut of AAG's jib. To which AAG said, nor did he like the cut of LG's jib.

LG invited AAG to join him in the parking lot.

I turned to Ahmed, all of 17 and absolutely terrified. "Ahmed," I said. "Call the cops." He looked frozen in place.

In the past week, I have already called 911 twice. One was about an accident that just happened before I drove by on the opposite side of the road. The other was about an abandoned dog. I didn't want to make a habit of this and besides, my phone battery was dead.

Ahmed didn't move. "Ahmed," I said, this time more forcefully as further invitations were issued, "Call. The. Cops. Now."

He fled. I don't know where he went to. Perhaps to a backroom where he cowered among the freshly made donuts.

Meanwhile, Mohammed (older and tougher than Ahmed, by far) called out, "Guys! Guys!" Which did nothing to stop the posturing and shouting.

I've seen this so many times at my house. Blue arches his back at Butch, Butch responds in kind and they circle each other, growling low in the throat. Most of the time it ends with Blue backing down. Sometimes it doesn't and the fur literally flies before I have a chance to step into the middle of them and break it up.

I wasn't going to take that chance. I've been physically assaulted before and find it pretty much ruins my week.

This time, one of the men backed down. There was pro forma blustering at the end and I watched them both leave before I picked up my coffee and muffin and fled for the safety of my car.

I still don't know if Ahmed called the cops.