We don't need an alarm clock because we have asshole cats.
Every morning without exception, this is how it goes. Sleeping in is impossible. Stay up ‘till 3AM playing Black Ops Cold War with your middle-aged bros? Too bad. Had too much wine the night before? Man up, buttercup. Even if I were suffering from a plague (too soon?) and had hours left to live, our cats would give zero shits and carry out their morning chicanery.
This is my alarm clock. If I could take it back to the Shitty Alarm Clock Store, I would.
1. Big Jonah (he’s Big Jonah because, well, he’s not exactly svelte) gets on bed, starts stumbling around like he's learning to walk, and meows.
2. Boozilla (our Bengal) gets mad at Jonah for having the gall to get on our bed, runs him out of the room. Plus Boo gets super territorial in the morning and wants Jonah out of the picture, because Boo is sort of a dick sometimes if we’re being honest.
(Sidebar: recently Boo has taken to walking up to Jonah as Jonah is just sitting somewhere vibing, pretending to cozy up, and then bam!, biting Jonah in the foot and running off, presumably laughing in Cat.)
3. Once exiled from the bedroom, Big Ol’ Jonah tries to get back in, sneaking around the corner from the hallway. Boo turns himself into a Jonah-seeking linebacker and intercepts him. This happens 2-3 times every morning, and frankly, Boo's interception vectors are perfect; sometimes I’ll just lay there and watch Jonah get trucked a few times. Lots of noise and pomp accompanies this: meows, howls, hissing, a fat cat potato-running on a hardwood floor.
4. Once Excessively-Proportioned Jonah has been banished permanently, Boo pushes open bathroom door, sits on corner of counter so he can see me, and meow-yells at me until I get up. He just sit there and unblinkingly stares while screaming every 20 seconds. It’s charming.
5. Fine. Jesus Christ calm down. I get up and get dressed.
6. Once in the hallway, Ample-And-I’m-Putting-It-Lightly Jonah starts screaming at me like he's never been fed. If this cat isn't putting something in his mouth, he's yelling for something to be put in his mouth. He's not Tiny Jonah for a reason.
7. Once in the kitchen, Jonah frantically meows at me like he swallowed an Adderall. Boo just stares at him, being all judgy.
8. I feed them. They shut up. Boo may or may not beat Big Jonah's ass just for a post-breakfast chuckle.
All of this takes about 10-12 minutes and absolutely must happen before I even turn on the coffee maker. If I break this routine I think I might be killed outright and then my wife would not only have to feed these clowns, but also drag my body into the woods. And I’m sorta big. I don’t like her chances.
What's the point of all this?
Your morning is better than mine.
The Stuff at the End You Never Read but Should
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