Kittens are a double-edged sword
In the comments for my post about our new kitten Odin, I noted how on Tuesday morning he came into my room around 6 AM and adorably curled up and fell asleep next to me. Cute, right? This morning was a little different.
Again, Odin wandered in around 6 AM (probably roused by Emory's departure, or perhaps Emory simply threw him into my room on the way out). This morning, however, Odin was Spazmo McBoisterous. When I woke up to find him in my room, I patted the bed, intoning him to hop up and stay awhile (that sounds lascivious, but I refuse to retype it). Rather than amicably hopping up on the matress, he lept at my hand like a beast possessed. Of course, he's a kitten and his attack was meant in play, but considering the vigor he demonstated in his leap, were he a tiger I would have given up the ghost.
Once he was on the bed he refused to sit down, instead waiting for me to move under the covers so that he could pounce upon whichever body part was in motion, be it my feet, knees, or torso. Suffice to say, it made getting comfortable a bit difficult. This would be all well and good if he had interrupted me in the middle of an afternoon nap, or reading, or something, but this was 6 in the morning after I had only gone to bed a little before 2. I finally had to place him back on the floor so I could get a second's peace. The kitten removed, I dozed off.
About half an hour later I was again awoken, because Odin and Pagan had both come in, apparently taken with the idea of chasing each other around my room at top speed. I groggily got up, chased them both out, and closed my door.
I suppose the lesson here is that kittens are a lot like me when I was seven: often and inexplicably filled with tons of energy at six in the morning. Clearly I should teach the kitten to turn on the TV and watch cartoons until the adults feel it is time to get up.
Again, Odin wandered in around 6 AM (probably roused by Emory's departure, or perhaps Emory simply threw him into my room on the way out). This morning, however, Odin was Spazmo McBoisterous. When I woke up to find him in my room, I patted the bed, intoning him to hop up and stay awhile (that sounds lascivious, but I refuse to retype it). Rather than amicably hopping up on the matress, he lept at my hand like a beast possessed. Of course, he's a kitten and his attack was meant in play, but considering the vigor he demonstated in his leap, were he a tiger I would have given up the ghost.
Once he was on the bed he refused to sit down, instead waiting for me to move under the covers so that he could pounce upon whichever body part was in motion, be it my feet, knees, or torso. Suffice to say, it made getting comfortable a bit difficult. This would be all well and good if he had interrupted me in the middle of an afternoon nap, or reading, or something, but this was 6 in the morning after I had only gone to bed a little before 2. I finally had to place him back on the floor so I could get a second's peace. The kitten removed, I dozed off.
About half an hour later I was again awoken, because Odin and Pagan had both come in, apparently taken with the idea of chasing each other around my room at top speed. I groggily got up, chased them both out, and closed my door.
I suppose the lesson here is that kittens are a lot like me when I was seven: often and inexplicably filled with tons of energy at six in the morning. Clearly I should teach the kitten to turn on the TV and watch cartoons until the adults feel it is time to get up.
posted by Jeff at 4:14 PM
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