Psychological Warfare with a Seemingly-Stupid Cat

Yesterday I was exhausted all day long. And I had no reason to be so tired, since technically I got, like, nine hours of sleep. However, this morning as I rolled over and came face to face with ol’ googly eyes, himself (hi, Tatum!) I had a sudden recollection of what perhaps caused said exhaustion. Somewhere around 4:00 in the morning Tatum gets snuggly. (Or cold. I prefer to think of it as his own little twisted variation on “affection”) And he likes to crawl under the covers and nestle into my armpit. (Apparently his sense of smell, much like his brain, is underdeveloped.)

Normally I indulge this moment, despite its oddly consistent bad timing, because Tatum is not really affectionate, otherwise. Unless you are a faux mouse. In which case his love is obsessive and unyielding. And also violent. So anyways, there is often elbow crease/armpit kneading involved, which usually makes my arm look like hamburger meat, but I know it comes from a loving place so I tolerate it. (Now that I think about it… aren’t there hotlines for this?) And since I was gone for ten days, Tatum has been making up for his lack of cuddling time by going extra strong with the claws and the snuggling and whatnot. And when you are woken up at 4:00 AM and forced to endure what feels like a tattoo gun but does not yield any sort of aesthetically-pleasing result for half an hour on your inner bicep, your sleep cycle gets a little… fucked, man.

End story: I felt Tatum coming over to snuggle this morning, and I was like, “Ah-hah! I am so tired, I shall ignore his tiny mews and pokes and roll over and continue to sleep like a normal person!” And sure enough, Tatum came over and pawed at the sheet I was clinging to tighter than duct tape, and I felt the paws and mews get more frantic, going from, “Mew?” to “Rrrow!” to “You’re going to regret this, jackass,” and then he poked me in the eye with his talons.

So he got booted from the bedroom, and to punish me for my decision, he ignored me for the rest of the morning, following The Funasaurus around like a sweet, pet-able little shadow, and when The Funasaurus left for work, he sat by the door CRYING, sobbing, as though his hateful little eyeball-poking heart was breaking.

The bandage on my left eye socket has rendered me less than sympathetic.

Meanwhile I stopped at Starbucks on the way in to work for an overpriced, yummy, decaffeinated froo-froo drink, and am feeling more human, both in eyesight and awakeness. Now I need to get back to work before my boss decides to poke me in the other eyeball.