Here there be monsters (socratic) wrote,
Here there be monsters
socratic

You gottsta love the pussy

Last night was hot. It wasn't kill your momma for an ice cube hot, but it was hot. Fortunately my room is air conditioned, so the temperature was downright comfortable as I snuggled into my bed to sleep. Unfortunately, I had to pee. After briefly considering the pluses and minuses of peeing in the empty water glass on my nightstand and dealing with it in the morning I reluctantly decided to make a trip to the toilet. Sometimes the bladder wants what the bladder wants.

Exiting my room into the foyer I was hit with a wall of solid heat, the air almost dripping with humidity. Perhaps I had made a mistake. It was too late to turn back now, though, so I ventured on to the bathroom and did my part to alleviate the national drought. As I opened the door to return to my pleasantly cool bedroom a pair of green eyes flashed out at me from the darkness, and I heard a mournful sound, like a thousand dead men crying out from beyond the grave. Actually it was just a meow, but it scared the shit out of me.

That's right, what I was faced with was not some apparition or dreaded wraith. It was a cat. My cat. Her name is Willow. As she stared at me with those big green eyes and meowed for a second time I realized that she was trying to tell me something. And that something was "It's hot as fuck out here." She wanted in to my chilled sanctuary. I attempted to dissuade her from joining me. "You've got water" I said "I even put some ice cubes in it." Meow, she replied, rejecting my logic out of hand. "It'll be too cold for you in there! You'll just want out again."

Meow.

The thing about cats is that you can't reason with them. Their brains are about the size of walnuts, and contain room enough only for their wants and desires, not for faculties of logic or reason. Anyone who's tried to teach a kitten even basic Euclidean geometry will know what I'm talking about.

This, incidentally is the same thing that's wrong with babies. Babies know that they want things but have no sense of other people's time or effort. I had a boss who used to call them "Little Hitlers." Whenever we'd pass a baby carriage on the street he'd throw up a Nazi salute and shout "Heil Mein Fuhrer." He was Jewish and writing a screenplay about a young girl who is taken in by a married couple and ends up drowning them both in the Erie canal. So yeah, there were issues there.

Anyway, back to my cat. She wanted to come into my cool cool room. I did not want her to do so, because it was night and night is when normally sleepy lazy cats turn into bouncing balls of energy. Nonetheless I felt guilty about leaving her out in the heat, dressed in a fur coat as she was, so I reluctantly brought her into my room and set her down on the edge of a cardboard box she usually loves to root through. I then lay down to get some sleep.

She started pouncing on my head. I'd like to say that she thought it was a mouse or something in the low light, but this is almost certainly not the case. She was just in the mood to pounce on my head. I made several grabs for her but she squirmed away and stalked the floor of the room peering at me until I eventually tired of reaching for her and closed my eyes to attempt slumber. Then she'd pounce again.

If any of you have ever tried to get to sleep with a cat pouncing on your head, well, why would you do that? It's impossible. Head pouncing is impossible to sleep through!

This is how cats operate, though. They have on conscience, they have no consideration, they just know they enjoy pouncing and damn it they are going to pounce. After a few more iterations I tried something tricky, feigning closed eyes and relaxation while actually remaining alert and ready to make a grab for her.

She pounced, I grabbed, and soon she was nestled against my chest, pinned in by arms and unable to squirm away. Seeing that there was no way out through conventional means she looked me straight in the eyes and started licking my chin with her rough little tongue. This was both tickly and scratchy, and I was tempted to release her, but since head-pouncing was sure to ensue if I did...well...I held fast. I was not going to allow her to lick her way to freedom. I was going to WITHSTAND the lickage even if it killed me! Not that there was much of a chance of it proving fatal.

Finally I was able to close my eyes and start to drift off to sleep...at which point my arm muscles relaxed and Willow, that wily little feline, managed to break free. She made one last pounce on my head, just to make sure I was wide awake, and then headed for the door, meowing to get out. That's right, the room was too cold for her. She wanted a drink of water. She was hungry.

I staggered to my feet, walked to the door, opened it for her, and watched her scamper off into the darkness as fingers of warm air clawed their way into my nice comfy room.

As I settled back into my bed to sleep, for like the eighth time that night, I realized that this little story I'm telling you has a moral. An important one that I don't want you to forget. And that moral is...never give in to the demands of a cat or a baby. They'll just walk all over you. Cats and babies are the enemy and must be defeated at any cost.

If I can convince just one person of the importance of this, well, my ordeal will have been worth it.

Also, sometimes it's the right choice to just pee in the cup.
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