Doctor Science (mecurtin) wrote in metaquotes,
Doctor Science
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One of Those Days -- Cats at 6:34 am

In a locked entry, obsessedmuch reports that

Cats are not delicate, graceful creatures.

I say this from experience, thank you, and I'll let the 7 of them I am owned by own stand as evidence that I am allowed to speak as semi-expert on the subject. Cats are often loud, clumsy, spazzy, obnoxious things with all the grace of a three year old on a sugar high, wearing rollerblades as he hangs from a towel that's been caught in a ceiling fan running on high.

Most mornings in this cat-heavy household begin at approximately three seconds past the moment the first ray of sun creeps over the horizon. They joyously greet the new day by playing their favorite game, "Herd of Thundering Elephants Tag." This game consists of one or more players chasing another at top speed through all the rooms in the apartment. Bonus points to whoever knocks things over. Extra points awarded for anyone who can actually run ON the wall at any point of changing direction. Points deducted for landing in anything wet or sticky, and lose one life if you run over the human with your claws out, leaving marks.

Simple enough. Very loud, but as long as they manage to avoid my bed and I can pretend I don't hear them, we all get along.

This morning, someone miscalculated very badly on their attempts to gain bonus points for scaling the wall AND knocking over things at the same time. I was wakened by the soundtrack of the game - the increasing pitch of rumbling hooves paws as the players rush around their randomly selected course. One of them landed on my bed, leapt off the bed, spilled massive amounts of books from the top of the radiator and the rumbling halted, as it will do on occasion when a player gets cornered (as they would have been behind my bed) or there's a mutually determined time-out for some reason only known to the cats themselves.

So I do what any sane person who owns 7 cats (shut up) would do at 6:34 in the morning - I sit up, snap at them to stay away from the goddamn bed and lie down again to go back to sleep for my remaining precious moments of time.

Three seconds later, I hear this awful, screeching, high pitched yowling sound outside. Imagine if you will a very large female cat in heat, then amp up the intensity a few pegs and you'll have an idea of what I'm talking about. So I figure that's what's got everyone all in an uproar and I sit up to look out the window so I can shoo away the offending kittyslut and get maybe 5 minutes of faux-sleep.

The screen in my window is ripped away from the corner. Outwards. And when I look down (from my second floor apartment) I see the crouching figure of Rudy, my cat. I look back into the room, believing this to be impossible, and thinking that he just must have ripped the screen when he knocked into it and there is just a duplicate cat down there. But when I look back - there are six very guilty looking cat faces staring at me from my bedroom door. If they were kids, they would be wearing the equivalent expressions of being caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "No mom, it wasn't me who pushed Rudy out the window. No way. How could I do something like that? I am nothing but a big fluffy ball of cuteness, all fuzzy and big-eyed and innocent."

I look back again - after a body count of 6 instead of 7 - and yes, he is still there.

First thought: what the fuck are you doing down there, you little pain in the ass?
Second thoughts: (in rapid succession) Oh my god, oh my god, he fell out the fucking window! Oh my god, I have a broken cat outside the window, oh my god oh my god!

He spots me in the window - ok, technically out of the window - and notches up the yowling. I go running down the steps (thank God I went to bed in something besides the usual underpants and tank top) and hurtling out the door to go get him and all I can think is that he's hurt, he's broken something, there's internal bleeding, there's going to be a very big pile of cat guts under him or next to him or something equally horrifying.

He perks up when I come around the corner to the back of the apartment building and doesn't move. Now I'm sure he's dying on me, unable to move, broken parts everywhere, oh my god, I can't do this, I can't possibly do this, it's not fair, God, don't make me have a broken, dying cat!

Upon closer inspection we find the following to be true:

  1. Cats can fall from the second floor of my building onto the ground and not break anything.

  2. Said cat will however be as traumatized by the leap into the unknown of "outside" as you are at realizing they have indeed jumped out of your window.

  3. Traumatized cats do not want to be picked up while they are still explaining to you, in cat, how this is not their fault, and could you please take me back to the world I came from and by the way, it was those furry little bastards who did this, it's all their fault I ended up out here in this strange place that I do not like.

  4. Traumatized cats can and will rub themselves against your legs as you herd them back towards the door. Theory: attempting to create enough static build up so that they will cling to your clothing and therefore never again be apart from you.

  5. My neighbors can and will ignore anything, including all of the above, even (or especially) at 6:40 in the morning.



In summary
Traumatized cats, actual (1)
Traumatized humans, actual (1)
Cats attempting to evade all responsibility for the event, (7)
Cats refusing to have anything to do with the traumatized one, (5)
Cats attempting to comfort traumatized one, (1)
Cats refusing to enter my bedroom, (1)
Screens ruined by event, (1)

I picked the wrong week to give up smoking crack.
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