Oh, Max

Today's pointless photo is not of Max the cat, in case anyone was looking for him.  There are plenty of photos of him about; just scroll down the sidebar to the Look At Something links, and you should be able to find him.

You know, if you're so inclined.

Anyway, I have a pet confession to make.  I've been rather cruel to Max the past few weekends I've been here at my father's place.  I've done something that I knew very well would upset him, and I've done it on purpose.  Repeatedly.

I've shut my bedroom door at night.

Now, my two fans will recall that Max is a very gregarious cat.  Gregarious to the point of needy, actually.  Max likes his people, Max likes to be with his people, and Max has a great deal of difficulty understanding why sometimes his people don't want to be with him.

Sorry, Max, but sleep has finally taken priority over servicing the cat.  At godawful in the morning, at any rate.

For those new to the program, Max has his regular habits when it comes to bedtime.  He goes to bed with my father, but early in the morning (AWFULLY early in the morning) he generally decides it's time to have his belly rubbed.  That's my job.  For whatever reason, he never asks the father figure to do it.  He'll burst into my room -- literally body-checking the door if it happens to be closed and not latched -- and stare me straight in the face until I have the decency to wake up enough to pet the cat.  There's a whole routine after the massage when his people finally get their butts out of bed, of course, but the early morning fondling is what we're dealing with here.

A few weeks ago I closed my door when I went to bed because my father was watching a movie and I tend to be a light sleeper at the best of times.  About ten minutes later I heard the sound of paws reaching under the door, trying to remind me that the door wasn't supposed to be closed, but I was tired enough that I ignored it for a change.

And I slept.  For a change.

And when godawful in the morning came around I wasn't woken up by a needy cat.  For a change.

And I decided I liked it.

Poor Max.

To be honest, I wouldn't feel badly about the whole thing except for his reaction when I do open the door.  This morning I woke up around six o'clock (which, yay me.  Six o'clock for me is like sleeping in until ten for most people) and figured I may as well get up and unlatch the door.  Well, the silly cat was in the room before I even had a chance to get back into the bed, and he was so excited that he didn't know what to do with himself.  Flopping down, getting up, pacing the bed, flopping down again... and all the while purring so loudly that I was a little afraid he might choke on it.

And this routine's been repeated every time I've closed my door at night.

Ah, Max.  What can I do, buddy?  It'd be different if I could get myself back to sleep after you wake me up, but now that I know what it's like to not have to deal with a cat's belly at Stupid O'Clock, it's going to be hard to go back to the old habits.



Oh, and I'll just say before I wrap this up that those of you who have never been owned by a cat are probably shaking your heads at this nonsense.  I don't care.  Max is... Max, and if he was any less Maxish he wouldn't be nearly so entertaining.

Have a good Sunday, all.