Catsitting

I’m looking after a friend’s cat over Easter. His name is George.
Yes it’s a rather odd name for a cat, but that’s a different story ;)

Anyway, George is still a fairly young cat, and has yet to have learnt from the book of Garfield. To George, eating and sleeping are mere distractions from the important things in life.

The important things being bolting up and down the hallway as fast as he can, and wrestling with a network cable.
Or jumping up and down the bunks in the spare room.
Or doing who knows what that seems to involve a lot of thumping and knocking things over, but somehow doesn’t leave any evidence…..
Overall nothing too alarming, afterall, we’ve looked after him in the past.

However, at night, he’s a complete sook.
I woke at 1:00am to the sound of meowing and yowling. I try to ignore it, but he’s fairly persistant, so I get up to make sure he hasn’t got himself stuck somewhere.

But no, what he’s really saying is “Play with meeeeeeeeee!”, “Pay attention to meeeeee!”, “Rub my tummy so I can bite your arrrrrrrrrm!”

So I go back to bed in disgust, and eventually manage to get to sleep again…only to be woken in the same way again at 2:30….and again at 4…and again at 5:30….

definitely not the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.