by Kenneth C. Hoffman
I should never have stayed up late Friday night. On Saturday morning I started work an hour earlier than the rest of the week. When seven o’clock rolled around, I hit what I thought was the sleep button, allowing me ten more minutes of slumber, but instead hit the off button. An hour later I was violently awakened by four stiff legs of crazy cat being jabbed into my chest. Schatzie, our door-opening cat, must have tried to wake me with meows but, having no success, jumped five feet into the air, landing on my chest with all the force of her fifteen pounds of cat (not including the weight of her decorative cat collar).
I later read that cats in the wild use this attack mode to flush out small animals from their underground burrows, which is why they all do the same thing when presented with interesting, unique cat toys. Another time my wife said she had to get something at the store and would I listen for the timer bell in the kitchen and take the cake out of the oven. I said I would, she left, and five minutes later I fell asleep while watching television. Suddenly a cat seemed to drop out of the sky, landing square on my chest with her stiffened legs. Immediately, I smelled cake and raced into the kitchen to save it. Just a little scorched around the edges, some judicious trimming was easily hidden under the icing. But how did Schatzie know that the timer was for me and how did she know that I would be late for work? I think that any disruption of the standard routine is reason enough for her to get our attention. Thank God she was a nosy cat.
Retired portrait photographer. A small, gray cat called Sassy owns me.
