With the possible exception of my wife, no one gets hangry quite like a pet cat.
We had to take Jax to the vet this morning to get his teeth cleaned – or as my friend Chris used to say, “get his grill washed” – and since they’re putting him under anesthesia, we had to pull his food at 10:00 last night. This is the second time we’ve ever had to do this, and good God does it make for a long night. It’s bad enough trying to sleep with these two meowing jerkfaces when we feed them on schedule, so you can imagine what it’s like having a hungry cat up in your face all night.
Whereas a hungry dog will just sort of look at you like a sad hobo all like – Garsh, I sure am hungry. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d be awful grateful for you to put some food in my dish. If not that’s okay too, I love you anyway DURRRRRR – a hungry cat might just fucking eat you.
Last night was a little bit different than the first time we had to go through this in that Jax did not shut the fuck up between the hours of 4 am and 6 am. He just sat in between Kristin and me making soft little half meows/half purrs in a very staccato manner that never seemed to have an end. The weirdest part about this is that I think this merged with whatever annoying dream I was having about work and Jax started to sound like Malcolm Gladwell.
I could suddenly understand the language of the cats and he went on and on about how with each passing hour, his body was amortizing at an unacceptable rate and how an injection of food capital would stabilize his internal health market and net out in positive gains in our overall sleep portfolio. It was a remarkably well-reasoned case, especially for a cat who still thinks my belt is an animal he needs to attack.
He went on and on with it and when I woke up for the fourth time after he nibbled on my hand again, I prayed for dawn.
Amazingly, this was preferable to the previous time where he and Finn teamed up on a Good Cop/Bad Cop routine that devolved into straight up bullying. Jax would come up to me, meow loudly right in my grill, and if I didn’t respond, he’d bite me somewhere on the face. I’d give him a smack, he’d run away, and then Finn would come in to make peace. He’d jump on the bed, start purring right up next to me and try to make nice. He was almost saying:
“Hey, I know that was uncool. And I’m sorry about Jax doing that. He’s just hungry, and truthfully, so am I. No one wants all this unpleasantness, so maybe we can cut a deal. It’s been a while since we’ve seen any food – truthfully, the dishes aren’t even there anymore and we don’t know where you put them – and we’re feeling the effects of it. Whatever point you’re trying to make to us, we get it. We’re in. We’ll do whatever it is you want us to do. But we need to eat. And if you’re not trying to make a point, and this is some sick, cruel game you’re playing, well then that’s something else, and I’ll be forced to invite Jax back up here. I don’t want that. Jax doesn’t want that. And you CERTAINLY don’t want that. So how ‘bout you get your fat ass up and put some goddamn food in the dish? What do you say, guy? Do we have a deal, or should I call Jax?”
We woke up this morning and I feel like shit. The lack of sleep combined with the high alcohol content beers from last night when our neighbors came over for dinner combined with general angst about our cat having to go under makes for one unhappy me.
But it’s Friday. Here’s hoping you don’t find yourself hangry.