It started at four o’clock this morning.
Bang. Bang. Bang bang. Bang bang bang. Bang.
Then again: Bang. Bang bang. Bang bang.
I turned over moaning to myself, “who’s playing with what now?” Then I looked at the clock and pulled my head back under the covers, only to hear BANG BANG BANG, chomp chomp from my bathroom.
This time I knew what it was.
Just how this BAD HABIT got started, I don’t quite remember, except – NOT my idea.
At night Grant retires to his bedroom downstairs and more than half the cats go with him.
Only four are really “mine” and Lily, who is the senior has a flexible notion of what constitutes loyalty. So she frequently sleeps downstairs.
Colin, the big orange boy, likes to explore the shower, and he got the habit of sticking around, so that when I tried to prepare for bed I found myself having a nightly altercation with the stroppy little hooligan.
When Colin doesn’t want to move, there is only one way to coax him and that is with food. Which is the last thing he actually needs.
I resisted this option but after he took a piece out of my leg one night, I gave in, and “treats in the bathroom” somehow became an institution.
Of course, there is no concealing such bribery from the other cats, so it lapsed into becoming “night night treats” for “my” guys.
Suddenly I had more than four “loyal” buddies.
The number varies from night to night, depending on who knows what particular thread of cat logic.
Currently, Patches resides in my bedroom most of the day, because I have a small radiator that she is dedicated to. She’s also my good friend, although technically she is one of Grant’s cats.
So when I retire to take my shower, I can usually count on having 5 buddies to “treat” and often someone else will sneak in before I close the door.
Tinkerbell is not one of the participants in this ritual, partly because she doesn’t like me and tends to avoid me, but mostly because she is overweight and I don’t encourage her.
However she knows what happens!
I keep the treats in a small cupboard in the bathroom.
Thus, when I suddenly heard “chomp chomp”, I knew exactly what was going on.
Tinkerbell had managed to get into the previously cat-proof cupboard and had managed to remove the top of the cat treat container.
There she was, with a mountain of treats, having a 4 o’clock feast. She looked up at me and hissed.
The little beast.
Tinkerbell being already over-treated, I did not offer her another, so then she hissed at me some more.
I went back to bed and Tinkerbell continued to growl at Blackie so I had to get back up and chase her. More demerits for me.
Just before lunch, Grant came home with some shopping and teased Sasha ans Sikkim by loosening the cap of his ginger ale and letting out some air. They couldn’t work out how Tinkerbell got in there.
After this, Grant was busy downstairs, so I had the delight of providing kitty-lunch unassisted, and it deteriorated into a free-for-all. Some days you just have to give up. No decorum. Nil. Nada…