Meow

Kitty sleeps in my art room downstairs. We gated the former dining room by velcroing Tyoma’s deconstructed crib sides to the doorways. This sounds much worse than it looks. It looks as if we have snazzy custom wood gates.

Anyway, kitty sleeps away from us for her own health and safety. Cats have nocturnal moments incompatible with three light and grumpy sleepers. Nevertheless, meowing concerts sometimes wake me.

One reason kitty wakes me is  Tyoma. He is about 100% potty trained at night, but with the new school year, he has been shouting out for a potty escort. The shadows in the stairway spook him.

When I was a kid, my mom cured my hallway fears with a flashlight. If we tried that with Tyoma, he’d dismantle the flashlight and eat the bulb. So, the household ears are open at night for Tyoma.

The other reason kitty wakes us—she has perfected meowing “Mama.” A year ago, my Mom observed that kitty does a first-rate imitation of Tyoma’s “Mama!” I dismissed this offhand. My mistake. I recently noticed that the “ma-meowing” peaks at five in the morning. It jars me awake since it sounds enough like Tyoma to fool my sleeping brain.

Today was the third morning in a row she woke me with a thousand insistant meows. I wondered what kitty wanted. She had fresh litter, lots of food and a bowl of bottled water big enough to swim in.

At six, I dragged my cranky self downstairs. She rushed to the kitty gate, “Ma-meow? Meow, Meow?” I let her out. She ran half way across the kitchen and turned to see if I was following her. I followed her. She dashed into the downstairs bathroom. “Marr-rrow?” Aha. She wanted to show me how delicious the toilet water was. Sigh.

Next month, I am buying this.

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