Pickles, please let me sleep.
Pickles keeps me up at night. Not the kind of pickles you eat, my son’s cat, Pickles. My 14-year-old son got this cat when she was a kitten and he was 10 years old. She’s actually a replacement pet; the rabbit died, (Sasha’s rabbit).
Pickles is your typical cat; sleep all day, stalk the neighborhood at night, demand attention occasionally. We hardly see her in the summer. Once in awhile I do a Pickles-Check: I ask my son and husband, “Has anyone seen Pickles lately?” Usually between the three of us, she’s been spotted within a 24 hour period, even if only for a brief fleeting moment. On warm summer nights she’s out cohorting with the neighbor cats and hunting mice, moles, small birds. All is well and peaceful.
Winter nights are another story. She stalks and hunts during the day. The sun is bright and warm and the small animals are out foraging for food. Pickles is in the house early during winter nights and sometimes does not go out at all. But those night-time stalking instincts rise up in her at times during winter nights too.
For some reason, Pickles thinks my bed is the best place in the house to sleep. She has 2000 square feet, three other bedrooms, two couches in the living room, not to mention a couple of nice soft laundry baskets for nighttime snoozing. Keep in mind this is NOT my cat either. Sasha feeds her, pets her and he is her person. Yet, when it’s bedtime, Dale and I have company.
Pickles can be very demanding. Like knock-things-over-when-she-doesn’t-get-her-way demanding. When Pickles wants out in the middle of the night she begins with a meow in my face. That’s my hint to get my butt out of bed and let her out or it will get ugly. And it has gotten ugly.
One night I did not heed her warning. Maybe it was rebellious spirit, “I will not be a slave to a cat” or maybe I was in that really deep sleep and didn’t hear the warning until a glass of water on the headboard found it way onto my face. Another night it was a book; a hardcover book, my Bible, the Old and New Testament! Ouch! Fortunately, the clock radio on the headboard is too heavy for her to use against me (at least, I think it’s too heavy!)
When Pickles wants out at night, she will do anything to get my attention. She has even been desperate enough to go in the kitchen and knock stuff off the counter. The master bedroom is very close to the kitchen so the sound of breaking glass brings me out of the deepest sleep in a hurry. On those nights, I can’t get her out of the house fast enough.
I used to wonder why Sasha always slept with his door closed. I think I will give it a try.