I was appalled...APPALLED to read the following. Unfair and unjust? I think so! You be the judge. Here is what I read:
Queen Kukka's Wrath
My cat is sooooo needy, but I love her.
Every once in awhile, we have a battle of wills. She believes she is running the show, while I know I am. This weekend, she passive-aggressively tried to solidify her position as queen.
I'm not a morning person, so weekends are my time to sleep until I naturally wake up. No alarm clock, no scheduled morning obligations. Kukka knows this and sees it as an opportunity to prove her strength.
Saturday, 6:49 am:
Kukka climbs on my nightstand and proceeds to rub her face against the lampshade. I've given up fighting her on this. While it slightly discolors the bottom border of the lampshade, it's not the end of the world and, unless I pointed it out to you, you probably wouldn't ever notice. When I hear her start licking the burgundy silk of the lampshade, though, I'm awake and irritated. "KUKKA! NO!!" I hiss, sleepily. "Lick, lick, lick," goes her scratchy little tongue. I reach out and physically remove her from the nightstand, roll over and attempt to rejoin my dream--already in progress.
Saturday, 6:52 am:
Kukka repositions herself on my nightstand for "Round 2." She lifts her paw and swiftly swats the half-drunk bottle of water to the floor (thankfully, I had remembered to put the cap back on). "CLUNK!" goes the bottle as it hits the floor. I open my eyes and look at her. She stares me down. I can almost hear the "Old West Gun Fight" music playing in the background as the wind blows the dust around and a tumbleweed rolls by. "Let's do this, bitch!" her eyes say. "Kukka...come on, stop it..." I plead and close my eyes again. I do not have the energy to take my ten paces, turn and shoot this morning.
Saturday, 6:55 am:
Kukka amps her efforts up a bit and jumps from the bed to the corner cabinet that houses my running fan (Yes...I'm one of those who has to have "white noise" while I sleep). The corner cabinet only has room for the fan and is top-heavy. In fact, the corner cabinet used to have a glass door until "someone" climbed up on it and, when caught, tried to push off, causing the cabinet to tip and crash to the floor--broken glass everywhere. I sit up as I feel her leap off the end of the bed toward the cabinet. "KUKKA! NO!! YOUGETDOWNFROMTHERE!!" I exclaim in the deepest and most threatening version of my voice. The volume of my voice is rising right along with my pulse. She stares at me, not budging. I decide to feign getting out of bed to heighten the threat. I throw back the covers, move my legs over the side of the bed and begin to [look like I'm going to] get out of bed. Believing I am going to come over there, she jumps from the cabinet to the floor. Feeling especially victorious (because my feet didn't actually have to meet the floor to prove my point), I pull the covers back up to my neck and sigh deeply, trying to find my lost sleep.
I have to take a moment and comment on the use of spray bottles to deter bad cat behavior. I've read in numerous books and talked with many other cat owners who swear that spraying a cat with a stream of water will show them who's boss and stop the unwanted behavior. Riiiiight. Let me say this: Kukka loves water. Every morning, she gets in the bathtub while I start the shower. When I turn on a faucet, she runs to get into the sink. And, when I turn it off, she is right there, drinking any
residual droplets. I tried the spray bottle when she was younger, but she would just sit there drink water while I sprayed it into her mouth. I realize now that I probably shouldn't have let her get too familiar with the water bottle--it sort of took the fear out of the "consequence." Spraying delicate streams of water into her mouth because it looked so damn cute while she lapped it up probably wasn't the best thing to do. It is sort of like the Wizard of Oz...when Dorothy & Co. were afraid of the wizard, but then realized it was just this tiny guy, standing on a stool behind a curtain, making himself seem larger than life.
ANYWAY...back to our story...
Saturday, 7:03 am:
She means business now. She jumps from the bed, to the top of my armoire. This is the holy land of cat leaping. Not only is it tall, it has lots of breakable items with which to have flinging fun. I immediately sit up and glare at her. She sits and stares as me as if she dares me to make a move. I try to fake her out again by ripping the covers off of me. She doesn't budge. I move my legs over the side of the bed and look to see if she feels threatened. She doesn't flinch. I stand and make a sharp move toward her. She lifts her paw (this almost plays out like it was in slow motion) and swats a CD case into my hamper. Without missing a beat, she turns and takes another swipe--this time at a stack of papers that are now fluttering to the ground. I dart toward the armoire just as she bounds to the floor and runs into the hallway. I shut the bedroom door and fume as I return to bed. "How can something that cute be so diabolical?" I wonder.
Saturday, 7:13 am:
I lie awake--up for the day--and listen to her throw her body against the bedroom door, hoping to bump it open. When that fails, I listen to a vulnerable, whiny meow escape her throat. I sigh as I recognize her "love tank" is empty and she just wants some affection. I laugh at the morning's events and think to myself, "Gee, Courtney, it really sucks to be loved this much, huh?" I get up, open the door, and pat the bed. She jumps up and "power-purrs" as she walks back and forth under my hand, pressing her body into my waiting palm.
I decide there are worse ways to wake up...