but this morning I lost it with Lily and Max. Yesterday, though wonderful, being as how I got to get together with Kari and laugh and gossip (and plan our workshop), was a long day, being as how when I go over to the mainland I also try to cram in all the shopping I need to do (Fred Meyer, Trader Joe's and Costco, mainly for staples). I didn't get home till 5 p.m or so, dog-tired and ready to crash early.
Max had been outside since I'd gotten up that morning, about 5 a.m., so he was waiting for me at the door, snarfed down every morsel of food in the dish, and was out like a light all evening. I went to bed about 10, thinking I would at least be sleeping till 5:15 or so, which is when the cats normally come scratching at the door.
(Music changes to grim, dark minor chords) At 4:50 a.m. came the first scratching sounds. "NO!" I hollered at the door, which normally sends them packing. At 4:55 came the second event. "NONONONONO!" I shrieked, knowing as I did that there was no chance I'd go back to sleep after this outburst but hoping that Lily had gotten the message and would wait awhile longer. At 5:00 came the third scratching accompanied by a "mew" that I knew had to be Max, because Lily's mew is much more strident. She had clearly set him up for it.
This time, I threw back the covers, stomped over to the door shouting NONONONONONO at the top of my lungs, wrenched open the door, ready to chase cats as far as I needed to chase them, mentally reviewing how stupid this all looked. Of course, no cats were there, having fled at the first STOMP, and I went sourly back to bed, irritated and feeling foolish to boot, regretting it all but trying to think how I can re-train them to quit scratching at the door in the morning.
I managed to stay in bed till 5:30, at which point I got up and found Max and Lily groveling in the hallway outside my room, Lily lolling on her back in submissive (yeah, right) pretense and Max bouncing up and down embodying the "Oh boy, food food food!" message. Lily, who is the prime culprit here, is neurotic enough without my having probably sent her into a decline for the rest of the day by MY neurotic behavior. For the moment, she has assumed the fetal position next to the heater, looking fragile, if a 15 pound fat calico can look fragile.
But seriously, is there any way to address this without raising my blood pressure? I would be grateful for suggestions and would prefer not to hire the local cat whisperer just yet.