Feline Frustrations...

 My cat is an idiot.

I have a glass sliding door in my bedroom and he has gotten into this habit lately where he scratches on it in the middle of the night wanting to go out. There is an open window 5 metres away, but still he scratches on the door. Every. Night.

So I wake up. I get up. Out of my nice warm bed. Out from under my soft fluffy doona. Into the freezing cold night. I turn on the light. I open the door.

And he bolts. The other way. Away from the open door. Into the house. Under my bed.

So I shut the door. I turn off the light. I go back to my nice warm bed. I get under my soft fluffy doona. I curl up on my side. I close my eyes.

And the cat scratches madly on the door.

So I get up. Out of my warm bed. Out from under my doona. Into the freezing cold night. I turn on the light. I open the door.

And he bolts. Away from the door. Under the bed.

So I shut the door. Turn off the light. Get back into bed. Snuggle under my doona. I curl up. I close my eyes.

And the cat scratches desperately on the door.

I fly out of bed, throwing the doona off me in a frenzy, tangling myself in the sheets and tripping over myself as I jab wildly at the light switch causing the light to flicker disorientingly. Lurching towards the door, I sway uncontrollably, almost falling on my face as I yank it open. The cat freaks, fleeing towards the bed but, thinking I'm clever I anticipate that, tripping over him in my haste to get to the bed before he disappears under it again. He proves he is cleverer and eludes me by faking left, then going right and vanishing beneath. I. lose. my. shit. Swearing loudly, I grab the nearest God-knows-what and start jabbing blindly under my bed, attacking the dust and shoes and odd bits of crap like a crazy person, chopping and swinging and making a complete ass-hat out of myself. Exhausted and totally out-witted, I stop, put down my weapon, take a few deep breaths and look under the bed. The cat is staring back at me innocently, licking himself.

I go and close the door. I turn off the flickering light and trudge back to bed. I collapse on the mattress and roll on my side. I snuggle deep under the covers and close my eyes. I calm my racing pulse and relax.

The cat scratches on the door.


The cat is not an idiot.

I am.

Cat. Not an idiot. Apparently.

THE CAT IS PLOTTING TO KILL ME!

Seriously. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

Every time I try to walk somewhere, he flies across in front of me at warp speed like an absolute mental. I have tripped over the bloody thing so many times, I'm surprised neither of us has broken a limb.

And it's not like he's a small cat either. If he was just this tiny ball of fluff, I could just kick move him out of the way and keep going. But no... He's a bloody great beanbag with eyes. If I ever do fall over him properly, I'm going down like a sack of potato's. I'm going to end up killing either myself, him, or both of us.

I'm convinced that as soon as he does it, and I trip (and he WAITS for me to stumble... he. pauses. for. just. a. second.), he goes off to wherever it is that happy cats go, HappyCatLand or something, sniggers to himself, and plots the next fly-by. He thinks it's hilarious.

It's NOT funny. It's a sinister plot to get me down to his level so that he can disable me and TAKE OVER THE WORLD!

Grrr!!!

Bloody cat.