Sam and Tim are not explicitly aware of upcoming plans, but they BOTH know something is up and that somehow, some way, a change in the household arrangement is either permanently or temporarily imminent. Therefore, in order to telegraph their displeasure with ANY unauthorized adjustment in the household status quo (ALL changes are unauthorized in their view – cats do not approve of interruption of their routine), they have decided to behave badly until they sense that the threat to their routine has passed. Unfortunately that means cat-induced torture will be a daily occurrence at my house for the next week.
I’m going to Las Vegas on a brief vacation next Thursday, but even before that, I will be out of town (and thus gone for at least 12 hours) on company business on Wednesday of next week. My return from Las Vegas is scheduled for midnight(ish) on Sunday, and upon my return I will be greeted by hostile, revenge seeking, fur-bearing instruments of torture named Sam and Tim, bent on punishing me for my desertion, however little it really affected their daily lives. Never mind that they sleep18-20 hours per day and that, on that basis, I will barely be gone one day. Never mind that their beloved “Aunt Pam” will be coming by each day that I’m gone and feeding them and providing them with lavish affection and attention – perhaps even spending a night while I’m gone. Never mind that they are the most pampered creatures on Planet Earth. Nay, nay my friends – it is not permitted for the human caretaker to take any respite time to recharge her batteries.
As a result of their premonition of upcoming disruption, Sam and Tim are making every effort to drive me insane prior to the advent of my trips. Sam, who weighs 25 pounds and is not a lap cat under normal circumstances, has started perching on my bladder at 3 a.m. That is NO way to be awakened. I don’t know why, but I get the feeling he is saying, “Okay bitch – you’re going away for some relaxation? Relax THIS!” Then there is the new game he is playing with his brother Tim, which involves faint bruises on my left hip and left arm where one or the other has utilized my body as a trampoline during a raucous 4 a.m. game of “chase”!
In addition, my lovely little lad Tim feels that I must be admonished frequently – in his piercing Siamese voice – about just how wrong I am to contemplate any changes in a routine he clearly enjoys. He is, after all, a CAT.
You must know the old saying: Dogs have masters; cats have staff. Apparently Sam and Tim have decided that if they must limp along with only ONE staff person, however slavishly devoted she may be most of the time, then that staff person had better realize the consequences of desertion quite unmistakably.
Trust me. I do.