An Open Letter to My Feline Terrorist

My bed is a queen-size bed so if you are the size of a standard house cat, you have a lot of options for bed entry points. Since only one human sleeps in the bed, and she has been known to awake violently and toss you off the bed when you really startle her, one would think you would typically choose an entry point on the opposite side of the bed to avoid landing on her and possibly suffering a “toss off”.

One has obviously overestimated your intelligence or has overlooked the fact that you are a closet masochist. In fact, perhaps you are actually an evil genius and you planned the early morning attack scouting out locations from which to achieve maximum trajectory and impact to reach your target. Perhaps you conducted reconnaissance throughout the night as I slept to locate the appendage beneath the covers so you knew where to land. Perhaps you timed it so that I’d slept as long as possible before the alarm went off to ensure that the last pain pill I took at midnight had long ago worn off. And when it was time – you orchestrated it beautifully: a flying leap from the top of the armoire to the bed landing squarely with all four paws down on the foot I had operated on 2 days ago.

Was that supposed to be payback for the vet incident last week? Seriously, the punishment was extreme for the crime and I gave you your most favorite thing in the world when we got home: cheese. After I stopped rocking back and forth crying and chanting “OW, OW, OW, OW, OW!” not a single one of my favorite things were waiting for me. No Tiffany & Co. blue box? No Jimmys, Manolos, or Ferragamos? No bottle of whiskey (to numb the pain until the pain pill kicks in – okay, that might be a bad idea)?

Anyway – I just want to make sure this is really clear: you so much as glance in the general direction of my foot and you won’t have to worry about bed entry points because you’ll be busy trying to figure out some far more basic entry points – like the ones to get into the house.