Christmas Break 2018 Day 5: It was the best of cats, it was the worst of cats

By Elizabeth Prata

I stayed up late last night listening to the live Christmas Concert put on by Grace Community Church. It's a stupendous concert, two hours long, with incredibly talented musicians and singers. I enjoyed that so much! It was after 11:00pm when I laid down, and I was looking forward to sleeping in, which for me is past 7 am.

It was not to be.

I am up and about early this morning, because my cat wanted me to be. You see, Murray has learned how to get me up. When did I lose control? It is a difficult question.

It's kind of spooky how the felines in your life know and understand your routine. When I arise, Murray immediately jumps off the bed and runs to the bathroom. Murray knows what's coming next- his breakfast. There, I have a large jug of food contained in a tightly capped plastic top. He leaps to the toilet top and sits there, waiting for me to open it and measure out two portions, one for him and one for Bert. When I have done that and tightened the lid, he leaps down and precedes me to his food bowl. His and Bert's are separated by 8 feet or so. I first pour out Bert's as I pass by, then arrive at Murray's, who is sitting pert and innocent as he waits these few seconds for me to arrive.

Of late, he has learned to swipe down the measuring cup and dipper from atop the toilet where I keep it near the food, and make it clatter to the floor. This occurs at about 5 am, the usual time I arise. During school vacation or weekends of course, I would like NOT to arise at 5 am, but Murray makes this hard.

Not where it's supposed to be

When I hear something crash or clatter to the ground, I sit up like a suddenly awakened vampire arising from his coffin, bark "Murray!" and then crash back to my pillow. (I don't know why I sit up when I yell his name, I guess I can just as easily yell his name while lying down). Murray does respond to his name and he knows when he has been bad. He runs away and hides for a few minutes.

But this morning I was not to be drawn into his little power play. No, sir. When I heard the clatter in the bathroom I said nothing. Therefore, ever persistent and dastardly, Murray then made something else crash. It sounded like glass, though it didn't break. It rolled a second, and then all was silence. I did the vampire arising thing, yelled "Murray!" and laid back down. But it was too late. My heart was pumping and that languid, relaxed feeling you get as you snuggle down into the pillow and perfectly arranged covers and muse whether to snooze one more time was gone. I was awake.

The notion that I am a marionette being pulled by Murray's strings has crossed my mind. Briefly. I pushed that thought away as I like to maintain the fiction that I actually run this place.

What was it that Murray had made crash? The food measuring cup makes a plastic sound when he pushes it down. And he'd already pushed that to the ground. I already taped down my coasters. There is nothing else on top of any table he can push off.

Oh, wait...

Lovely Christmas decoration you have there! Why, thank you!

Let's push it off the table RIGHT NOW!

Murray leaving the scene of the crime. A re-enactment

My one and only Christmas decoration. The candle holder. See? This is why I can't have nice things.

Bad boy!

On the other hand, Bert, my nice kitty, is lying on top of the bed where he had come at about 4 am to cuddle with me, like he does every morning. He enjoys spending the last hour of sleep with me and I appreciate that. Murray enjoys spending the last hour of my sleep trying to get me up- so he can eat. I don't appreciate that.

Nice kitty. Patient kitty.

Don't be fooled by Murray's sweet good looks and humble posture.

The Aftermath

In the end I do appreciate having a kitty with personality. I enjoy creating a home for them where they know what to expect and the routine frames their days and helps them relax. Murray isn't a bad kitty at all, I've had worse, lol. He is a good boy and is learning to be more affectionate. So he wants his breakfast at 5 am and throws a few things around to let me know it. I don't blame him. It's what kitties do.

I look at my nice couch and see the awful double sided sticky tape and wish I didn't have to put it on to deter cat scratches on my furniture. I look at all the nice Christmas decorations in the garage and wish that I could put them up. I look at the taped-down coasters and long to have nice things on top of tables.

But that would mean...no cats. It'd mean Murray wasn't here. That day will come, sooner rather than later I surmise, since he has Coronavirus (which is eventually fatal). When that day does come I'll wish I had some personality in the house, someone to teach and be patient with, to celebrate his advances in affection and love. I'll wish that I had to put tape on the couch and keep the decorations in the garage. I know it. So for now, I'll be a startled vampire rising in my coffin at 4 or 5 am when Murray wants his breakfast and flings something off a surface. I'll pick up the turned over candle holder, hang a decoration or two awkwardly high, and grumble with a smile.