And there I was berating kittens for being massive shites when I, of all people, ought to know that they donβt get much better when they grow up.
I wasnβt able to exercise much last week because of my cold, so I was looking forward to my first walk in ages with my walking friend, who had also been ill. I went to bed early the night before and, stupidly, I thought Iβd have a decent sleep. I know. I donβt know why I havenβt learned by now that, if you live with a massive bastard of a cat, and you have to do something important early in the morning, itβs not going to go well.
Louis Catorze woke me twice during the night/morning with the most gut-wrenching screaming. It wasnβt his usual nocturnal whine – which, donβt get me wrong, is annoying as hell because it still wakes me up. This was proper, house-is-on-fire screaming.
I didnβt look at my watch so I donβt know what time the rude awakenings came, although each one happened in the dark, so it must have been pre-6am. I assumed he must have been hungry, but I did my best to ignore him because didnβt want him to start making a habit of this. I know people whose cats scream for food at all hours, and they do it because they know that the pathetic humans – YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE – cave in and give them what they want.
After the second wake-up call, I wasnβt able to get back to sleep again. Eventually I came downstairs at 6:30am β¦ by which time Catorze had decided that he was actually thirsty, not hungry, so he had a long drink of water from his special glass. Yes, the same special glass which was full to the brim and which is accessible to him at all times.
So there was absolutely no need to wake me up. Twice.
Why do I put up with this – apart from abject fear, of course?
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