Wednesday 24 July 2013

Advice Part 83- My cat's vendetta

So, human beings are supposed to be the "smartest" animal species, are we? Certainly, we can talk, think abstractly, and have the ability to spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about non-essential activities (such as updating our blog....ahem.....).



However, my advice to young players is that human intelligence is NOTHING compared to the power of the feline brain, especially when it comes to forming and enacting devious plans.

How do I know this? Read on.....

My cat, Polly, does not appear to be a mastermind on first acquaintance. She is elderly, overweight, and spends a disproportionate amount of time eating and sleeping. But I have started to realise that the innocent exterior is simply a facade.....


EVERY evening for the past week, the following has occurred:

  • It's around 10 o'clock at night. I change into my pyjamas and nightcap, brush my teeth, and then hop into my nice, warm bed to read my book for a while. At this stage, Polly is on the couch in the lounge room, apparently "fast asleep" (it is a ruse, I tell you!)

  • After 30 minutes or so of reading, I switch off the light, and settle down to sleep. There is TOTAL silence from the lounge room. Polly "sleeps on."
  • After 10 minutes or so, I begin to drift off to sleep. All is well.....
  • The peace is suddenly shattered by a barrage of scratching, digging and burrowing. It sounds as if I've stumbled onto the set of The Great Escape, but without Steve McQueen for company.
  • The burrowing continues for 5 minutes or so, until there is a LOOOOONG silence. I know EXACTLY what this silence means- my cat is leaving me what could euphemistically be described as "a gift" in the litter box.
  • My room is enveloped by a fetid odour, before the scratching and burrowing starts again, as "the gift" is buried.

At this stage, I try to ignore the stench, but it's no use- I must depart from my warm bed, clean out the infamous "gift", take it to the garbage, and then try and get back to sleep.

This DOES NOT make me well pleased.

Sure, I should be glad that Polly elects to use the litter box, rather than going on the floor. And yes, I am grateful for this small mercy. But I never cease to marvel at the fact that she somehow knows PRECISELY when to time her midnight toilet run in order to cause maximum aggravation. Five minutes earlier, and I wouldn't be dozing; five minutes later, and I'd be fast asleep.


I have tried to trick her into using "the facilities" at a more reasonable time by pretending to go to bed a couple of hours earlier. I close the door, jump into bed, read, then switch out the light.

To no avail.

All I can say is, if anyone is looking for an instrument of torture, I am very glad to lend you my cat.

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