Izzie – Cuteness as a Weapon

What the hell?!  “Stop it!”

It doesn’t stop. The sound of claws ripping open my mattress jerks me awake.  I’m never at my best when this is how I wake up; in fact, I’m probably at my worst.  Izzie doesn’t know this about me yet but she’s about to find out.

We have an adjustable bed because some mornings I can’t stand up and The Viking has to help me. The bed has two twin size mattresses on individual bases so I can adjust my side.  And it’s between these mattresses that Izzie is diligently shredding one or both.  I shove my arm down there and swing it around wildly but she’s too fast.

The clock reads 6:50 and I think, optimistically, I could get another hour and a half of sleep. I lay my head back on the pillow and close my eyes. Shred, shred, shred. FUCK!!

My preferred method of waking up in the mornings is to not wake up.  I take some fairly heavy drugs to manage pain and one of those drugs knocks me out so I wouldn’t feel an earthquake if it happened right under my bed.  There is also a wonderful lack of pain while I am in bed and it takes some convincing to force myself to my feet.  So, a 14 ounce furball ripping my mattress apart tends to bring out the Hell Bitch in me.

I shove my arm back through the hole again, flopping it around aggressively in hopes of swatting the little beast and shout “NO!!” The Viking rolls over and grunts a question that I can’t understand; I hope it’s not about sex at this ungodly hour.  I mumble something just as unclear and lay my head down again. Shred, shred, shred. FUCK!!!

I grunt my way to my feet and stomp to the living room for the water bottle. I turn around to unleash hell in the bedroom and Izzie is sitting on her ass right behind me.  “Stop being bad!  I’m tired!”  Her head is tilted to the right.  She’s fucking adorable but it’s too early to care.

The bedroom door gets closed, locking the fiend out, and I crawl back into bed.

You know those nature shows? About hawks and eagles?  That cry they make?  The piercing, high shriek?  That’s exactly what Izzie sounds like.  She doesn’t meow like a normal cat; of course not, because she belongs to me and there’s very little normal around here.  And she’s screeching her little heart out at the closed door. Double FUCK sonofabitch bastard asshole shit head!!!

There’s nothing for it; I may as well just get up for good. The clock reads 7:01am, an insane hour to be forced out of bed by a creature that doesn’t even weigh as much as a block of butter.  I’m not getting up happily though, and Miss Izzie will feel the measure of my wrath!  Water bottle in hand I jerk the door open and start firing.  Water blasts down the hall at the tiny, scrambling kitten as she heads for the cover of the sofa.  I have no idea if I even hit her.  Probably not because I’m STILL HALF ASLEEP!

I get dressed and close the bedroom door so at least The Viking can get another hour or so of sleep. I’m considerate that way.  While I’m making coffee the beast comes over, arches her back, hops several times from all four feet then zips into the livingroom.

“I’m not playing with you.”  I call after her.  “You’re bad.  You’re also an asshole and I refuse to reward bad behaviour.  You get nothing you want right now.”

I stumble into the office and park myself in front of Facebook while the coffee brews. How do I explain to a kitten that she has to wait until I have, at a bare minimum, a whole cup of coffee before I’m fit to play with her?  She stands in the office doorway watching me.  I show her the palm of my hand.

“Don’t even start with that cute shit! I’m immune!  See?  Do you see me softening?”  I gesture around my face.

She doesn’t leave, doesn’t blink, doesn’t do anything but sit there being cute and an asshole. The coffee pot gurgles and slurps as it sucks the last of the water through.  My fury is burning itself out and the first awesome sips of coffee finishes it off.  She walks silently under the desk and gently pats my leg.  I look down and she runs down the hall.  I ignore her.  Moments later: pat, pat, pat on my leg and then another dash down the hall.

So I play with her….because she is a very good girl.  She’s just a baby being a baby and they can’t help themselves when the urge to play takes hold.  I flip the feather toy around with one hand, full coffee mug in the other hand, while she chases and stalks, all the while wondering why cuteness is such a powerful weapon?

The clock reads 7:42am. Bloody Hell.  It’s going to be one of those days.