I woke up one fine morning to a sea of black in front of my eyes. Not darkness, but pitch-black something. Aside from the confusion, for a hot second I sorta thought I had died. Then I realized there was something covering my face, so I reached up, and it turned out it was just Tinkerbell sleeping on my face. I’m guessing she was using my pillow as a bed, but then I was taking up too much room, so she decided to use my face, instead.
I wish I could say this only happened once, but Phoebe, who would let us use her as a pillow but then would chase dogs three times her size down the street, also had a liking for sleeping on my pillow. I once woke with her sleeping so close to my face that I had to wonder if I had foiled a well-planned attempt to smother me in my sleep. When I tried to move my head, she turned around, and bopped me on the head.
The moral of this story is that you shouldn’t let your cats use your face as a pillow, otherwise you might think you died.
Does it count as urban exploration if you're just exploring your rooftop?
Let me start at the beginning.
I have a lot of trouble sleeping. Between the sleep apnea (which often ensures I can’t stay asleep, meaning by early morning when it wakes me up again I’ll just give up and get up) and always taking at least an hour before I can fall sleep, it’s safe to say that sleep doesn’t consider me to be its best friend. Most of the time, that’s annoying, but other times, I can live with it… such as when I sneak out onto the rooftop to watch the sunrise.
Despite how often it happens, I’m not particularly fond of getting up early, but there are some perks. I like being the first up in the morning, where I can pretend I have the house to myself. I like the quiet. I like seeing nature breathe in the first life, and doing the same. In the end, I guess morning isn’t that bad.
Cats have weird habits. It’s really no secret, at this point. They’re a little like humans in their enigmatic capacities.
I don’t know if Tinkerbell is really against books so much as she views them as an open invitation to focus on her instead. Whenever we’re reading—particularly if we’re lying in bed while doing so—she uses radar senses to detect the smell of the paper, to hear the turning of the page, and sprints over from any corner of the house to visit. Then she’ll insert herself between us and the book, sometimes even crawling through the space between the book and our lap. If we try to move the book to see it, she’ll then move to block our view again, and she won’t rest until we pet her.
I don’t know if she just thinks books are weird, or if she’s so self-centered that she can’t stand the idea of us using leisure time focusing on anything but her, but it’s become clear that to her, time spent reading is wasted, and time spent petting is delightful.
Mom and I were downstairs watching a movie when I heard a cat growl, and saw Tinkerbell chase another cat downstairs and out the open back door. I got up to look outside, because I though she and Jack had got into a fight and were about to resume, when I saw it wasn’t Jack; it was a grey cat we had seen hanging around our backyard before, and had taken to feeding.
Somehow, the grey cat had snuck past my mom and I, up the stairs (in full view, directly across from me), and had lounged upstairs for who knows how long before coming across Tink.
The grey cat ran off, and I pulled Tink back inside, where she began pacing around the house, searching for any more cats that had snuck in.
The next day, we were in the backyard cleaning it up/doing yardwork, when we spotted another cat. She was very friendly, and also decided she needed to go in through the open back door. Strangely, she wouldn’t listen when Ian and I tried informing her that this wasn’t actually her house, so we followed her in, trying to keep her out of trouble. She wouldn’t let us pick her up, but we managed to keep her from going upstairs or harassing the Tinkerbell. We were trying to sort out how to shepherd her outside when she froze, staring at Rudy, our turtle. She stayed there for a good minute before slowly backing away, and then turning and running out of the house.
The moral of this story is we really need to start keeping our door closed. Or maybe we should start planting catnip so we can have even more visitors.
I firmly believe that cats make some of the best pets. Earning their love is deeply fulfilling, and overall, owning one is incredibly rewarding. That being said, there are times when the only words you can use to describe them are "little shits".
If you have cats that are allowed outdoors, you'll know that to them, the doors to the house are endlessly fascinating. They'll wait patiently in front of the doors to come in, acting as if there's no place on earth they'd rather be than inside the house... right up until you open the door. Then they turn around and run away. On top of that, they come back a minute later to do it all over again. After the fifth time in that many minutes, you swear you'll just leave them there, that you'll come back after you're done eating or whatever the cat keeps interrupting (because they only do this when you're busy). Then, of course, your cat starts crying, and imitating a dog with their puppy-eyes, and you feel so bad that you cave and try to let them in. And they turn around and run away again.
Is it some sort of practical joke? Is this a game to them? Do they like watching their humans jump around and wait on them hand and foot? Or are they really that indecisive?
I came across a video that documents (if my experiences are anything to go by) the 10,000th time a cat has pulled this nonsense.
You'd think the solution would be to just leave the door open. This, of course, only causes the cat to disappear, right up until the time when you decide to close the door again, when the cat reappears and demands to be let inside.
After roughly four hours have passed, and you've promised the cat your firstborn child if they just stop toying with you and get in the damn house, they come inside.
Then you go through it all again the next time they want outside.
I was home with my brother cooking dinner when I felt something tickling the side of my neck. Brushing at it, I saw I knocked a spindly something about the size of a penny to the floor. Naturally, I had to take a closer look.
Me: “There was something on my neck and I think HOLY SHIFEWAETASHDFCRAP THAT IS A SPIDER THERE WAS A SPIDER ON ME!”
Ian: “Well, it’s off you now.”
Me: *repeating myself because clearly he wasn’t fully comprehending the situation* “THERE WAS A SPIDER ON ME!”
Ian: “Yeah, I got that.”
Me: “Oh, I think some of its legs broke. I broke some of the spider’s legs. I’m so sorry, spider.”
Ian: “Did you kill it?”
Me: “No! No, I just broke some of its legs, and now it’s sorta dragging itself away by its non-broken ones. Oh, I’m a horrible person. I’m sorry, spider!”
Ian: “Well, just don’t step on Mr. Spider now, then.”
Me: “I think it died. I think I killed the spider.”
Ian: “No, you just broke some of its legs.”
Me: “And now it’s not moving. I’m a murderer.”
Ian: “Just leave it be.”
Captain Jack: “Meow.”
I walked around to the back door, where our cat, Captain Jack, was standing attentively. I opened the door, and he bounded forward into the backyard, stopping about halfway across the lawn to stare up at a squirrel, sitting on the fence.
Me: “NO! I won’t be responsible for another death! RUN AWAY, MR. SQUIRREL! RUN AWAY!”
I ran out into the backyard after the cat, as the very frightened squirrel hopped away along the fence.
Me: “CAPTAIN! NO!”
The cat then turned to glare at me, like, Thanks for scaring away my meal, bitch.
Ian: “What did you do?”
Me: “Jackie, get back here!”
Jack then turned and ran off to the side yard. I walked back to the house, where my brother was staring at me in amused disbelief.
Me: “He ran off. I think the squirrel’s safe, now, though.”
I turned back to the yard, rather concerned about the neighbors.
Me: *trying to clear the air between me and our probably-not-present neighbors* “I’M HAVING A BAD DAY!”
I then marched back inside, closing the door quickly behind me. Ian couldn’t stop laughing.
Me: “I think the neighbors think I’m crazy.”
My mom, who was away on a business trip, called later that day to let us know that Jack ended up on the neighborhood watch. Apparently, sometime after I had yelled at him and he slunk away to prowl the streets, one of our neighbors found him in her backyard being dive-bombed by birds. As he is a known hunter of both squirrels and birds (and the occasional snake), the birds decided they were fed up with his antics, and so have taken to dive-bombing him whenever he gets too close. You’d think this would deter him, but no. Our poor neighbor was highly concerned, so shooed the birds away, but Jack wouldn’t let her get close enough for her to take him indoors. The concerned woman then snapped a photo of him and uploaded the story to our neighborhood watch page.
My mom found the photo, and informed our neighbor that the cat was not a stray, and in fact our “generally friendly cat, who can sometimes be a little shit.” She then suggested that if the same situation ever arose again, she could just spritz him/the birds with the garden hose to subtly suggest he go home.
I told my parents they weren’t allowed to have any more children (or pets), because they already have a delinquent teenager, and it’s the cat. Heaven knows what would happen if we added another human into the mix.
I just hope I won’t receive any calls from the police regarding his whereabouts.
I have no idea what I'm doing.