Feline ritual
The felines in your life will teach you about ritual. Now is when we eat. Now is when we sleep. Now, now, NOW is when we play. They will cry plaintively if this schedule is deviated from for even a moment. Cats are creatures of habit. Woe betide those who break their rhythms.
Ezekiel is both the brainiest and neediest cat I've ever had. So smart he gets bored without constant stimulation, he also requires a proper shape to his day. The human must be up and out of bed sometime around 5 AM. This is the first battle of the day, because the human prefers to stay in bed--not unreasonably--at least until 6. Then it's love-love-love all the way from the bedroom to the kitchen, where more love ensues while I prepare breakfast for the four-legged set. Once breakfast is completed, it's time for attention. Now, I prefer to eat my breakfast and do my LJ/Facebook/NY Times run. But as far as the cats, specifically Zeke, are concerned, now is the time on Sprockets when we play. So he cries and he does gravity experiments. He has broken more than one precious thing in the practice of this ritual abuse.
The answer I've developed is to let him get just worked up enough so that when I finally do get up to pay attention to him, he actually waits for me before running off--which he will invariably do because cats make little sense. Sometimes he runs off to sit next to the very specific toy with which he wishes to play. Sometimes he just runs off. On those days when he does the latter, I grab him up, take him back with me to my chair, settle him in my lap and give him the Morning Scritch. This involves stretching the length of him across my lap, with his head toward my right arm, and then using both hands to scritch his head and neck, whence cometh the motorized purr. Then it's scritches up and down his body, which makes him so happy that he purrs louder, kneads my arm, and drools. And this goes on for quite a while. It amazing how quickly one can get used to drool. I suppose new parents learn this pretty quickly.
The thing is, once we've had the Morning Scritch, I'm pretty much free for a good portion of the rest of the day. Attention Has Been Paid. And once Zeke goes upstairs to sit in the cat tree by the window, woe unto me if I disturb him. Hiss. Growl. But if I work at home or if it's a weekend, there must be play late in the day, around 3:30-4ish. I can't be home unless play is on the schedule. Meowing for play often lasts well into the evening. Sometimes I'll get into bed and Zeke will bring me a toy because the play must continue. But by then he's figured out that it's dark and the human is going to take her long nap.
And Sophie? Sophie is all about the love. But apparently I've loved her enough that she's not quite so needy. We cuddle up when I read. She sits behind my left shoulder on the top edge of the couch when I watch TV; either that, or she crawls under the afghan I'll wrap around myself at those times. She always sleeps with me. I think it's easier being Sophie than it is being Ezekiel. Less work. More relaxing. Not so regimented. I did something right with her. With Zeke, well, if the price I must pay for finding him inscrutable as a kitten is paying attention to him as a full-grown tom, I can live with that. I'll get less sleep, and there will be more slime, but I'll live. In a very structured, ritualized way.
Ezekiel is both the brainiest and neediest cat I've ever had. So smart he gets bored without constant stimulation, he also requires a proper shape to his day. The human must be up and out of bed sometime around 5 AM. This is the first battle of the day, because the human prefers to stay in bed--not unreasonably--at least until 6. Then it's love-love-love all the way from the bedroom to the kitchen, where more love ensues while I prepare breakfast for the four-legged set. Once breakfast is completed, it's time for attention. Now, I prefer to eat my breakfast and do my LJ/Facebook/NY Times run. But as far as the cats, specifically Zeke, are concerned, now is the time on Sprockets when we play. So he cries and he does gravity experiments. He has broken more than one precious thing in the practice of this ritual abuse.
The answer I've developed is to let him get just worked up enough so that when I finally do get up to pay attention to him, he actually waits for me before running off--which he will invariably do because cats make little sense. Sometimes he runs off to sit next to the very specific toy with which he wishes to play. Sometimes he just runs off. On those days when he does the latter, I grab him up, take him back with me to my chair, settle him in my lap and give him the Morning Scritch. This involves stretching the length of him across my lap, with his head toward my right arm, and then using both hands to scritch his head and neck, whence cometh the motorized purr. Then it's scritches up and down his body, which makes him so happy that he purrs louder, kneads my arm, and drools. And this goes on for quite a while. It amazing how quickly one can get used to drool. I suppose new parents learn this pretty quickly.
The thing is, once we've had the Morning Scritch, I'm pretty much free for a good portion of the rest of the day. Attention Has Been Paid. And once Zeke goes upstairs to sit in the cat tree by the window, woe unto me if I disturb him. Hiss. Growl. But if I work at home or if it's a weekend, there must be play late in the day, around 3:30-4ish. I can't be home unless play is on the schedule. Meowing for play often lasts well into the evening. Sometimes I'll get into bed and Zeke will bring me a toy because the play must continue. But by then he's figured out that it's dark and the human is going to take her long nap.
And Sophie? Sophie is all about the love. But apparently I've loved her enough that she's not quite so needy. We cuddle up when I read. She sits behind my left shoulder on the top edge of the couch when I watch TV; either that, or she crawls under the afghan I'll wrap around myself at those times. She always sleeps with me. I think it's easier being Sophie than it is being Ezekiel. Less work. More relaxing. Not so regimented. I did something right with her. With Zeke, well, if the price I must pay for finding him inscrutable as a kitten is paying attention to him as a full-grown tom, I can live with that. I'll get less sleep, and there will be more slime, but I'll live. In a very structured, ritualized way.