Every night before she goes to bed the Woman closes the bathroom door most of the way, probably because her eyeballs are so freaking delicate that she can't tolerate the sunshine that streams in through the little window in the morning. It wakes her up and makes her cranky. I'm an observant kitty; I noticed that she did this every single night.

A few weeks ago she finally realized that every morning when I was batting her glasses around that I was trying to be helpful and was getting them for her. Lacking opposable thumbs, they sometimes wound up on the floor. Sometimes ballisticly. But hey, what can a person expect? She quit getting upset about it and was even impressed when I managed to get her glasses between my teeth and then dropped them on her pillow. She didn't even complain when my mighty tooth scratched them.

The fact that it took her 7 years to figure this little thing out really isn't surprising. She has that whole People Brain thing going on. What *is* surprising is that it finally occurred to her in the last week that every morning while she gets dressed I open the bathroom door for her, and while she does her biznezz I try to open the thingy where she keeps her drugs. I haven't quite mastered that yet, but I am trying. I really figured it would take her another 7 years to figure that much out.

Man, all I ever do is be helpful, and it takes YEARS to get a little appreciation for it. But does that get me any extra crunchy treats?

Phffft.

I don't need more head skriches. I need SUSTENANCE. Maybe shrimp.

And a donut. That would be good, too.

The Woman sat at her desk and surfed around FARK and was barely paying attention to her own breathing, much less the fact that there were starving kitties in the room with her. I did what a kitty needs to do, and sat there beside her chair reminding her every 1.136 seconds that we wanted to be fed.

At some point she grunted "It's too early. It's only eight fifteen. I'll feed you at nine."

So? The way it works is that she gets up in the morning, does her biznezz, gets dressed, and takes her drugs (not necessarily in that order) and then she comes downstairs and feeds us. Then she reads the newspaper (comics...don't let her fool you into thinking she's any level of Informed) and then she checks her email. So it is not acceptable to get up do all the Upstairs Things, then come downstairs and sit with the paper and then check email. It is not fair to skip the part where the kitties get the Stinky Goodness.

Since this was not fair, I felt I needed to remind her. And when she didn't get up...that's when I started hitting her.

I mean, I didn't hit her hard. I simply stood on my back legs and popped her with my mighty paw over and over and over and over and over whilst meowing over and over and over and over. And I might have started hitting harder after she didn't even talk back to me after 5 minutes. And I might have jumped up on the desk, head butted her in the face, then jumped back down to resume the hitting and meowing.

It was NOT, as she suggested, a temper tantrum.

I don't do temper tantrums. I do Pointed Reminders. And it worked! After 45 minutes on meowing and hitting and head butting and more hitting, she got up and opened a can of Stinky Goodness for us.

Am I awesome, or what?

Every night I work really hard to get the Woman to get up off her considerable backside to open a can of Stinky Goodness for both Buddah and me. Now, see how nice I am? I don't just do it for me, I work so he gets to eat, too.

And I really work for it. To be sure she doesn't forget, I start about an hour ahead of time. Getting her to get up requires a lot of jumping on her desk and head butting her, getting put onto the floor, jumping back up and knocking things off, standing up on my back legs and poking her in the side with my paw, then whacking her with my paw, and then more jumping on the desk. And meowing. Nonstop meowing. You know how draining it is to keep that up for 45 minutes. Meow, meow, meow, meow...

At some point she always tells me to be quiet, but that's when I know I finally have her attention and she's starting to realize she has hungry kitties and it's just about time to feed them. I can't shut up then, or she might start reading more stuff at FARK and then she'll never get up.

So as hard as it is, I keep it up. I work for that Stinky Goodness, dangit.

So she finally gets up and we run into the kitchen. I wait on the floor and Buddah waits on the counter. She gets a can and turns around and you know what always happens? Do you?

She pets him on the head and says, "You're a good boy, Buddah."

WTF?

All that work, and he's the good boy?

Tonight while she's sleeping, I'm totally licking her toothbrush.

Heh...you know it was a fine poop when it drives the People out of the house.

Ok. The Woman got a new rumbly bike. (Because she's really old and kept getting stuck on the other one. geezer.



And it has a trunk.



And apparently, I'm not allowed to ride in it.



Now...you know that sticker is there because SOMEONE tried to take Fluffy for a nice long ride...and I'm guessing it didn't turn out well.

Fair warning to the People: I will eat your face off if you even think of taking me for a ride!

Raise your paw if your People were shouting at grown men and women taking baths in that giant tub on TV last night.

Yeah, mine, too.

What's more bizarre is that some of those people got medals for taking their baths the fastest. *I* could do that. Give me space and a wet tongue, and I'll have my bath done faster than you can say "Oh gross, stop licking that."

Where's my freaking medal?

For Sprout,
For whom today many tears are shed
As her family says goodbye

When the Woman wouldn't get up and get me some crunchy treats, I channeled my inner Sammy Meezer and whapped a bunch of stuff off her desk.

She was not amused.

I was impressed, though, because for a fat chick she can move pretty quick when her cell phone is about to meet up with the cheap laminate flooring...

Ok, so with all the Woman's sleep issues, I've been nice and let her sleep in pretty much as late as she wanted the last few days. I wander into the bedroom and sit on the bed and wait, and she seemed to think that was awfully nice.

Well.

We can only have so much of that.

This morning I went in at 8:30 and meowed right in her face until she opened her eyes. She had a few nice words for me and it took her half a freaking hour to actually get up, but she did get up.

But...but...she didn't feed us. No, she made us WAIT. WTF? I was nice all that time and she made us wait.

I hope she remembers that tomorrow morning when I'm pouncing off her face at 6:30...

Many of you already know the Really Bad News in the Cat Blogosphere today. But I have a few lurkers who don't surf the cat blogosphere, and I wanted them to know, too...and it's hard news, and it's hard to share, but the Sticky Little Person involved deserves to be shared.

Monty's new Sticky Little Person, his little human sister Violet, whom we all knew as Sprout, died unexpectedly today. She was just shy of 3 months old.

This doesn't seem real.

You people have really big hearts, so I'm hoping you'll take just a minute and think good thoughts for Monty's family. They need every ounce of Mojo, of prayer, of good thoughts we can offer.

And I know just yesterday I asked you to dig in your wallet for a buck or two to help Mr. Milky--and he still needs help, he does--but I'm asking you again today to give a buck or two so that Millie's Mom, Lynne, can go to baby Sprout's funeral. She was Sprout's godmother and needs to be there.

If you can, the donation link is here, on the Cat Blogoshpere. If you can't, I understand. Money is tight these days. But at the very least please think of them all.

The Cat Blogosphere is in shock today. And to top it off, the lady reporter that came to my house and featured me in the newspaper, she died, too. That's sad, but she lived a very full life and did a lot of things. We can be happy for her even when being sad she's gone.

I am going to go sit on Buddah now. Dunno why, but he seems to like it, and it sometimes makes me feel better to make him squeal.

Go pester someone you care about, too.

No matter what she might say, I was not trying to suffocate the Woman as she slept this morning. It's just that her left nostril was whistling, and I wanted to help by stopping it with my paw.

It's not like I didn't leave the right nostril open for her to keep breathing. People get excited over the stupidest things.
* * * *
If you haven't been to Artsy Catsy lately, please go visit, specifically to this post about Mr. Milky. Mr. Milky is a stray that came banging on their door the other day because something inside told him this was the place to get some help. He's a bit of a mess, with leaky eyes and swollen feet, but instead of getting all oh no you're getting bloody feet prints all over our stuff the people were all Poor kitty! We will love you and help you and take you to the stabby place!

Now, Mr. Milky has obviously had a hard life and he might need surgery on his paws, and The Artsy Catsy People could use a little help here. They're not going to turn him away because they're good people, so if you can spare a few bucks, would you please go donate a little? You'll be my very best friend if you do.

All right.

This trying to figure out the Woman and her sleeping issues is getting exhausting. I keep trying to figure out how to balance staying on top of my job as Alarm Clock and letting her sleep if she's had a hard night, but lately they're all hard nights. A guy has to eat sometime, though, so I'm never really sure where the line is between She Needs Sleep and I Need Food is. As hungry as I am in the morning, I need her to be at least halfway here mentally, and the lack of sleep is making her...well, stupid.

Yesterday and today I erred on the side of Let's Not Evoke The Sleepy Monster. Not only did I let her sleep, but I sat at the end of the bed and made sure Buddah didn't jump up there and wake her up. He circled on the floor, going back and forth beside the bed, trying to figure out a way up, but I wouldn't let him.

She woke up today at 10, looked at the clock and said "Wow! It's late!" And then she saw me keeping Buddah at bay and sat up to give me head skritches. And holy carp, she realized how helpful I've been! She actually said Thank You! AND she gave us the really really good Stinky Goodness--Fish & Shrimp Feast! When we were done eating she gave me another head skritch and said she finally got a good night's sleep (thanks to me, Benedryl, and Percoset) so hopefully tomorrow breakfast will be a little eariler.

On the other hand, I'm actually getting used to eating later, so I'm not sure it will matter to me.

Look, if a closet door is open--especially the one that goes under the stairs and is LONG and HIDEY--I'm gonna try to get inside it. Don't tell me you're looking through boxes in there. We can co-exist in the closet together. I might even help you look for whatever it is you need to find. But dangit, I'm gonna get in that closet so stop wagging your poky finger at me and stop telling me to go find something else to do. I found something to do. Sheesh.

Okay, I slacked on my job a little bit this morning. I'm not getting SOFT or anything, but the Woman didn't get to sleep until after 3 this morning, and the Man didn't go pass gas last night (at least not for pay...I assure you he did plenty of it for free, though) so she couldn't leave him a note or anything. =sigh= I let her sleep. She woke up at 10:15 and was all ooooh, you're such a good kitty and I kind of wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in my tummy to hurl.

Tomorrow...tomorrow I get her up early. I can't have her thinking her sleep is more important than my breakfast.

Plus, she needs to remember who is more important, and that I'm not some squishy, floofy nice guy. I'm not!

The Woman has not been sleeping well, and apparently this is supposed to be sufficient reason for my needs not being met in the manner to which I have become demanding accustomed. Yesterday morning, breakfast was almost *2* hours late because she was awake until 5 or 6 in the morning, like it was my fault. I did my job, I woke her up at the usual time, upholding my end of the deal. But did she get out of bed then? No....

I was worried it was going to be the same deal this morning; last night she went to bed like usual but got up later and sat here like an Internet-crack-junkie, staring at the monitor with glassy, dark rimmed eyes. I knew that meant getting her up was going to be a bear, so I sat here and said over and over "go back to bed, go back to bed, go back to bed," but she told me to be quiet and then didn't go back to bed until almost 4.

But...but...she left a note for the Man: please feed the glorious kitties because they are wonderful and deserve an early repast. Or maybe it said something like feed the freaking furballs so I can sleep a little.

Whatever. He came home from passing gas, saw the note while he was having his breakfast, and he opened a can of Stinky Goodness for us.

This left me a little confused, though. One of my jobs is to be the alarm clock. I always wake her up at 9:30 if she's not already up. But since Buddah and I had already eaten, which is why I'm supposed to get her up, what was I supposed to do? If I didn't wake her up, she might miss something important, like a vitch-slap fest on The View. If I woke her up and she didn't want me to, she might launch me across the room like an unexpected booger.

In the end, I figured I better do my job. So I jumped on the bed at 9:30 and said very quietly meow? When I meow really tiny like that, she says it's cute because it's like I'm trying to whisper, and it's freaky in a quiet serial-killer kind of way.

She sucked in a deep breath and said, "Go away." Then she rolled over so I climbed over her and told her okay, she could go back to sleep because Buddah and I already ate and we didn't need for her to open anything, but when she got up she could open a can if she was feeling generous. But did she appreciate that?

Pffft. She mumbled something about tying my tongue in a knot, so I left her alone. If she missed Whoppi Goldberg saying something really funny, it's not my fault.

Tomorrow, I'm not gonna be so nice. I have a job, and dammit, I'm gonna do it, because I'm responsible.

From The Psychokitty Dictionary:

Disappointment
dis·ap·point·ment [dis-uh-point-muhnt]
-noun

1. the act or fact of disappointing: She got up early, made the kitties think they were going to get breakfast, but then she went back to bed, which was a serious disappointment to them.

2. the state or feeling of being disappointed: Max's disappointment was very great when she didn't get him his Stinky Goodness early this morning.

3. a person or thing that disappoints: The Woman is a giant disappointment, and a boil of the butt of my existence.