It's 2:50am and I'm up blogging as I can't sleep. Insomnia? No, Cats. The cats have decided that 1am is the prefect time to let us know that they want to go out. How do I know they want this? Because they sit outside my bedroom door and scratch and meow and bang and god knows what else. I keep poking Rob to let him know that the Cats are revolting and what is he going to do about it but he just intones, "It's too early to let the Cats out." So I get up and come down stairs to try and convince the Cats that I am in charge and that they are not going out.
Why can't the Cats go out, you may be asking? (or not) Because the last time I let a Cat out in the middle of the night, that was the last time we saw that Cat. That was Jackie Chan. Jackie was the most loving Cat in the world and the biggest bully to anything out doors. I figure there was something out there that he wanted to beat up and he lost.
Currently we have had a gang, yes a gang, of raccoons who have been hanging out at our house. They like to party under our deck (yes, we have a big deck, it's a guy thing). This gang of coons might decide to rumble with my Cats and I just don't like dead Cats.
So here I sit, reading and typing and jumping. I jump because Charlie has this trick of sneaking up behind you and poking you with his claw to let you know that he wants out. Figaro will stand at the back door and scratch at the glass door non stop until your head explodes. Cleo just wanders around looking worried (she always looks worried). Charlie and Fig have now started the rounds of distruction. They will scratch on furniture, lay on the mantel, hang from the curtains, until they have irritated you to the point that you say, fuck it, they can go out. I'm about at that point now.