Emily, my older kitty, LOVES to go outside. She sits in the sun, she chases bugs, she races around, and she’s purrfectly happy. Then she wants to come inside. It’s the inside-outside game with a cat.
Somehow, since I started working a job outside of home, she has figured out the calendar. She somehow knows when it’s Saturday – the one day I get to sleep in with complete abandon as long as I want and she starts early.
Like 5 a.m. early.
She meows. She paws at the door. She jumps on and off the bed. Then she ramps it up.
She meows LOUDLY, jumps on my HEAD, and meows in my EAR and then runs off before I can grab her for corporal cuddling (the only punishment that works on cats, in case you’ve never known that).
I have reinstated the squirt bottle by the bed, but she’s so much cleverer than Max ever was about the squirt bottle that she almost never gets wet. She’s implemented this spectacular method of staying under the bed, sticking out her head to protest her incarceration, and then pop back under the bed before I squirt her. Usually, it’s the rug, curtains, and our bedspread that get wet and not Ems.
She’s good. Dastardly good.