Your cat ate my hair. I don’t know if my hair resembles an enticing ball of twine or if I just stood too close to the ventless oven while you were cooking sausage, but for whatever reason, your cat wanted to eat my hair. And he tried. Like six times. I kept waking up to the sound of grainy cat tongue ushering strands of my hair into his slimy esophagus, delicate teeth clicking together as they helped it work its way down. As if the idea of having my hair barbered by the jaws and ultimately digestive system of a formerly stray and mangy animal isn’t bad enough, imagine the entire experience bathed with the scent of stale cat food breath.
Your cat sat on my head. Right, this one’s not so weird. Cats do that, especially when they are cold or affectionate (and/or trying to secure prime real estate circa my tresses). However, this is no delicate little kitty. This is like a furry bleach bottle with legs, leaning its probably-medically-unhealthy weight against my face. So what did I do? The only clear option–move in direction opposite of cat. Unfortunately that also means “move in direction towards you.” Which is, you know, really awkward. Don’t get me wrong, I like you just fine. I’m sleeping in your bed, after all. But I think we can both agree that suddenly forcing myself into little spoon position at four in the morning is a little jarring. Now my butt is in your crotch, and your breathing has changed so I know I totally woke you up and you’re totally pretending I didn’t, out of confusion or fear or who knows what. All I knew was that cat better not come any closer or I’d be faced with the awful dilemma of either spending the rest of the night on top of you (this is not sexy or comforting; I am bony) or in the backseat of my car.
Your cat put its claws in my mouth. The whole thing began innocently enough. He started to do that creepy thing cats do when they effectively knead your body with their paws, which is kind of cute and also kind of disturbing if you figure they are probably instinctively trying to nurse whichever part of you they are touching. In this case, that part was the lower half of my face. Cute… dude, alright…thanks, I get it, enough, I thought to myself. But rather than interpret my unarticulated thought, cat decided to take it to the next level and add some claws to the mix. That little a-hole hooked me on the bottom lip like I was some kind of trophy marlin. And, similarly to a fishhook situation, I was now faced with the delicate act of removing the hook in a way that somehow maintained the integrity of my lip with the added variable of a now quite agitated, animate fishing line. I put the kitty in a vice grip, freed my poor bleeding face, and shut him in the other room.
Your cat spent the rest of the night screaming outside the door. You didn’t wake up, though. Thanks for that. When you finally did, no doubt refreshed from you sound night of sleep, I announced that your cat and I had become enemies over night. “Oh, sorry, he’s really cuddly sometimes.” Yeah…. something like that.
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