In the catbird seat

Who needs alarm clocks, doorbells or massage therapy when they have cats?
Cats have a mind of their own about everything – including time.
If they decide it is time to be petted, to be let out, to be given attention by those two-legged creatures in their turf, that is all that matters. The cat has decided.
This morning our cat decided – at 5 a.m. – that it really needed to be petted and petted NOW!
The cat whumped up between my husband and I, rolled around and squiggled under our hands begging for – no scratch that – demanding attention.
Pet me! I want a double dose, from you pathetic two-legged creatures sleeping up there off the floor. Don’t think you can hide from me. I am here and I will not be ignored.
Early Cat used his body language quite effectively to communicate, “Scratch behind my ear. Under my chin, a little higher up. And a good long scratch under the collar. Nee-ow!”
Then he heaved himself over, reached up with sheathed paws and pulled my hand down to his belly. “And a good old fashion belly rub to finish it off.”
I don’t do belly rubs.
This cat likes belly rubs. With persistence and a grab at my arm with his paws without claws, he earns a few seconds of belly rub.
It was not enough. He wanted to wrestle. He grabbed and pulled on my arm, beating against it with his back legs. I referred the cat who likes to wrestle to my husband who does a manly job of wrestling.
A couple hours later, when the sun was shining and I was preparing to leave for the day my husband wandered out. “That cat certainly is insistent about being petted isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
The other, older cat maintains a greater dignity. It sits by the front door, patiently waiting to be let out. If she has to wait too long, she comes searching for a two-legged door opener and meows her command.
“Do you want out?”
“Meow,” the cat walks back over to the door and looks up expectantly. Either we trained her to go outside for certain activities or she has trained us to open the door on command.
It is usually a good system.
However, this summer the ritual became a merry-go-round. She Cat went out the front door with my husband’s help, walked around the house to the back door where one or another of the grandchildren would see the cat washing the window in the back door with her nose. The children ran to open the door to let the cat in. A few minutes later the cat was sitting patiently by the front door.
Off and on, all day long, the cat circled the house.
I came home and noticed the cat by the door, “The cat wants out.”
“No, it does not.” my husband was quite emphatic. He proceeded to fill me in on his day with the cat doorbell.
I opened the door and let the cat out anyway.
Fifteen minutes later it meowed piteously at the back door.
Only the cat’s need for sleep stopped the merry-go-round. The cat jumped up on my lap as I was reading a book. It massaged and prodded my slacks with gentle pulls of its claws, preparing a comfortable place to sleep.
I didn’t want a cat massage. I gently pulled its paws out of my clothes. The cat settled down, curled up and became a limp, lap blanket that I gently eased over to the side so I would not disturb it. After all it needs to get its rest so it will be awake in time to sound the “rise and shine you pathetic two-legged creature. It’s time for a belly rub.”
(Joan Hershberger is a reporter at the News-Times.)