When Annoying Things Strike

As many of my loyal readers know, I'm cursed with one of the most irritatingly affectionate cats on the face of the earth. Last night, as usual, he was determined to prove once more that he does still in fact deserve the coveted title of Most Annoying Thing Ever (which, ironically, is MATE for short). He knew I was going to bed once I started brushing my teeth, so he raced into my bedroom and jumped in to wait for me. He insists, every night, upon sleeping cheek to cheek, his stripey little arms wrapped around my neck or smushed up against my face and his feet tucked up under my armpit. He wiggles and squirms for awhile, purring like a chainsaw, until he finds the correct position, and then slowly falls asleep. As he falls asleep, his purrs get quieter and quieter until they become little ticking sounds, and eventually peter out. But I have to keep extremely still during this period, since if I make even a small movement with my foot, he wakes up and starts purring at Stage One again (high decibel level) and the cycle begins all over.

So, last night, he waited excitedly in my covers for me to get in bed, but I was exhausted and wasn't going to put up with his shenanigans. I picked him up and put him outside my bedroom door, and then wedged the door shut with a doorstop (my door doesn't completely latch and he can push it open). He amused himself for awhile elsewhere, and I immediately fell asleep.

About an hour later, at 12:30, he realizes that I am asleep and he's not in bed with me, happily slumbering and purring with his claws pricking into my carotid artery, and he becomes quite out-of-sorts. He meows dejectedly, his little voice cracking, and bangs on the door. I sandwich my head between my pillows, roll over, and slumber on. But while I'm in dreamland, a transformation born of loneliness and rejection occurs, and I'm awakened by heartbreaking noises resembling what it would sound like if the ghost of a little goblin sobbed while watching Bambi's mom die. Of course, it was Jesper, at the door, his chin wedged in crack beneath to achieve optimal acoustic conditions, wailing his heart out.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I looked at the clock - it was 4:30, about 1 hour before getting-up time, and I decided that I could put up with him for a little while to ease his pain. But, before I could rescue him from his solitude, he came crashing through the door, and bounded up onto my bed. He immediately burrowed between my pillow sandwich and stuck his cold, wet, snuffly nose into my eye.