Six reasons why my cats are jerks

Oh boy, it’s been so long since I’ve written a proper blog. You all know how much I love lists. And cats. So let’s do this thing!
 
Sadly, I lost two cats to illness last year. While I cannot replace my lovelies who crossed the rainbow bridge too soon, we were able to adopt more. So let’s introduce you to the most recent family of shelter cats.

 
Fluffy – Pretty plus and absurdly hirsute, her main hobbies include judging others and hissing. And snacks. Lots of snacks. Preferably brought to her by her human slaves.

"I'm sitting in mah chair, shedding large quantities of hair, while I judge you."


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"Mumsies, you did not specifically tell me NOT to climb up here."



​Fred – With his sister, Wilma, was rescued from a hoarding situation where he had no attention and not a lot of care. Current hobbies: rubbing his cheeks against his mommy’s face, purring loudly, getting into trouble, and begging for goldfish (crackers).
 

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"I was given to understand that dinner would be served promptly at 6pm."




Wilma – A petite girl with a big meow. Sister to Fred. Hobbies include burrowing under my blankets right at 3am every morning, running back and forth in the house like she’s lost her mind, and posturing in a threatening manner at the birds outside the living room window.
 


​These three devils -- er, angels -- provide hours of entertainment. But sometimes, these little fur balls are just plain … jerks. Here’s a sampling of why:

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1. Ever had the feeling, when you’re sleeping, that someone is watching you? It’s exactly like that, only about 4 inches away from my face. And in Fluffy’s case, she not only stares me awake but also breathes heavily like the creepy, judgy stalker she is.
2. What is it about my hair that makes these lovelies want to chew on it? It’s a miracle I don’t have bald patches.
3. I’m sure this happens out of love and concern, but can someone explain to me why these kitties get desperate if I am not out of bed by 7am? Like, desperately pawing at the blankets to dig me out before I perish. Thanks, guys. I didn’t want that extra hour of sleep on a Saturday after all.
4. Drinking the dishwater. Why is this murky water with questionable flecks of food and rimed with soap bubbles better than the purified water we have diligently refreshed into those stainless steel bowls every morning? Why?
5. Not helping when I’m trying to write or when I log into the hospital EMR to finish charts. Do you understand how difficult these tasks are when there is someone marching over the keyboard and butting your chin with their head?
6. They are actively trying to kill me. At least Fred is. He has the unique ability to move underneath my feet and trip me while I’m walking anywhere – floor, stairs, to the bathroom in the pitch dark. At some point, I will fall and break a hip. And then he’ll probably sit four inches away and stare at me…

​"Mumsies, we cannot help but notice that you've been eating too many donuts lately..."

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