Don’t Feed Your Cats First Thing in the Morning
Unless you want to create the world’s most persistent alarm clock
I don’t know what I was thinking when I started feeding my cats breakfast at 4:30 in the morning. I must have had a fever that day, or perhaps I was under a spell.
I also don’t know why I bother setting an alarm clock. I don’t need one. Or, rather, I have one — a soft, fuzzy one with razor-sharp claws.
Sweet Zombie’s internal clock tends to run a little fast. This morning, I opened my eyes to see his gray face hovering two inches from mine. He was kneading the blanket enthusiastically, his purr on overdrive. I checked the time on my Fitbit. It was 3:15.
“No,” I said. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
An hour later, he was back. This time, he pressed his face up against mine.
“Let me snooze for a bit.”
Ebenezer was stretched out next to me, pressed up against me as close as he could get. Sweet Zombie slapped at him. Ebbie moved to the foot of the bed.
“That was mean,” I mumbled. I was so tired. Sweet Zombie moved back up toward my face to threaten me with his claws. He started kneading the blanket, purring loudly. I covered my head. You see, his routine is to move closer and closer until he can reach out and start kneading my face. He scratches my lips. Twice he has stuck his claw in my eyelid.
For some reason, he’s my favorite cat. The light of my life. The love of my heart.
My alarm on my phone went off, and I could smell coffee. My coffee maker is set to start brewing at 4:20 am. Whoever first put a timer on a coffee maker was a genius.
“Uhhhhhhhggg. Okay, I’m getting up.” I start every day with these words. I flipped on the light in my bed nook — I don’t have a bedroom, just a bunk built into the wall in the main room of my cabin. I sat up.
The cats had gathered. Winnie and Ebbie were at the foot of my bed. Scooter was on the floor, looking up at me. Sweet Zombie had joined Fat Zombie and the Muffin Man in the kitchen, which is about six feet away from my bed nook, with my home office area in between.
By the time I reached the kitchen, they had become a swarm. I opened a can of fish-flavored paste with meaty chunks — one single can for all six cats because they mostly eat dry food — and scooped a spoonful into each of their bowls. I’ll fill their bowls with dry food before I leave for work. When I get home, they’ll get another can of meaty goo. I used to give them two cans of wet food in the morning, but the Muffin Man has a sensitive stomach. Too much wet food makes him puke, so I cut down on the amount they get at one time.
If my alarm clock ever fails me, I won’t oversleep. Sweet Zombie is a better alarm clock than my actual alarm. He doesn’t have a snooze button, and if I try to ignore him, he resorts to violence. It’s a good thing I’m a morning person.
