Old Cats

My cat Tigger, who I got as a kitten for my 4^th birthday (hence the name), is sort of like a frail 98 year old who is upset because no one talks to her anymore, so she makes a lot of noise and occasionally drools. Since she’s gotten old it’s harder for her to nuzzle her scent onto other things, so it kind of drools out whenever she’s getting pet. Since she is too old and lazy to rub her scent onto inanimate objects, she follows us around the house and mows at us in a voice that sounds like Samuel L. Jackson is trying to be a kitty.

Her favorite time for this is when we are in the middle of emotional conversations, or yelling at one another. She seems to think that loud vocalizations = someone wants to be pet, and she sees a mutually beneficial exchange and adds her voice to the carnage.

Tigger also refuses to bed without being tucked in. She will nap all day, but come 9 PM she wanders downstairs and yowls until someone goes to pick her up and calm her down. Once someone (me) reaches down to pick her up, she’ll dart a few steps towards the stairs. This proceeds until someone (me) gives in and follows her to bed. She moves at the pace of a wounded tortoise, but if I try to pick her up she goes rigor-mortis-claws-extended on me.

Once we get to bed, the real battle begins. Everyone in my family is allergic to her, so naturally she prefers to sleep on the pillow. This may have something to do with the fact that she was my pillow for the first eight years of her life. Though she struggled then, now asking her to move is like telling an old general his service was a failure. She sulks, then plans a counter-attack. So when I help her onto the bed, I pet her until a small nest of fur surrounds the foot of the bed and she falls asleep. Then gently, softly, I move to the head of my bed and read. 

Two chapters later, I turn off the light, roll over—and find myself eye to eye with Tigger.

I just want to clarify, this is physically impossible. I believe a combination of fierce determination and wisdom have enabled Tigger’s tiny old cat body to teleport, because otherwise I am certain I would notice a mammal sitting on my arm.

So I dump her at the foot of my bed again and prod her away with my feet whenever she tries to sneak up. This continues until either she is too exhausted to keep up the assault, or I get too tired and hide under my covers. Either way, at roughly three AM, I feel warm dampness on my cheek accompanied by a congested purr. My eyes and throat itch, and I wake up to Tigger drooling over me like I’m a dead mole.

Then she starts meowing to be pet, or fed, or picked up so she can claw me, or maybe mowing so I’ll keep still and quiet so she can continue drooling over my prone body.