Mom spent the week with my husband and me, and from this visit, I learned that a list of expectations for overnight house guests may be necessary. Not everyone has five cats confined in their home. Not everyone has two handicats. Not everyone is stupid like me, I guess.
The next time we have an overnight visitor, they should expect to see this list waiting on the pillow of the guest bedroom:
Welcome to our home! To make your stay with us more pleasant, please read the following list of what to expect when temporarily sharing a home with five cats.
In the middle of the night, you may be visited by one or more cats in your bed. Before reacting, it may benefit you to first determine who your visitor is.
If it is Blind Murphy chances are high that he is wedged between your legs tighter than a cold scrotum. This is why I suggest wearing panties to sleep because I have a feeling he’ll crawl up into your cooter if you let him (please don’t let him; if you do, please don’t tell me).
If it is Zoe, don’t touch her. For some unexplained reason, she throws a tantrum when she is touched in bed that is akin to flicking the ears of a severely autistic child. Don’t worry, though. Her nocturnal visits are usually brief as I assume she is just checking to see if you’re dead yet.
If it is Elvis, he’ll want to sleep in one of the most inconvenient spots on the bed: beside your face. When he does this, he expects you to offer the palm of your hand (it doesn’t matter which) and nuzzle it against his face. I can’t remember how I discovered this, but I think it came about while playing a game with him that I’ve played with the other cats. I call the game Alien Face Sucker (don’t ask). But unlike the other cats, he liked it. So there you go.
If it is Mr. Tiddles, he’ll just sleep at the foot of the bed without interfering with your sleep, unless of course, he is hungry. If this is the case, be prepared to open your eyes because you suddenly have this weird feeling that you are being watched. Then be prepared for a really long, uncomfortable, awkward staring session.
If it is Reese, be amazed. Seeing Reese in bed with you is like seeing a unicorn because that little, skittish bitch spends most of her night skulking through the house like a ghost.
Blind Murphy believes that all the toys are his. I guess this is partially my fault as I have never corrected this assumption. What can I say? Having a disabled cat with entitlement issues amuses me. However, the only toy he plays with is a small, feather ball that I call his chicken. He’ll bat it around like a normal cat, but my warning to you is for what you hear after he clutches it in his jaws. The deafening wail may sound like a desperate cry for help, but don’t be alarmed. He is only telling others that he is a skilled chicken catcher.
During the day, this little display of dominance is a nuisance. During the night, however, it is fucking down-right frustrating (and by night, I mean between the hours of 2 and 5 am). You will be driven to snatching the “chicken” out of his mouth as if it was your daughter sucking on a tampon, but let me save you the time as I have tried this and learned it does no good. The little bastard has at least a dozen “chickens” scattered in various hiding places around the house. He will only find another and repeat this cycle until he feels he has sufficiently proven his supremacy.
In a normal home, walking is the act of simply placing one foot in front of the other. In my home, walking is a complicated exercise of coordination as you must keep your gaze affixed to the floor like an abused housewife. Instead of stepping, you should shuffle your feet so as not to punt an active cat that dashes into your path like a lesbian kickball player. Keep your pace slow, as these fuckers are pretty quick. The best advice I can give for walking anywhere in my home is to always be prepared to catch yourself when they try to trip you, and they will.
Also, let this serve as notice that our cats love lounging on the stairs. So be careful. If you end up at the foot of the stairs with your legs splayed in unnatural angles and blood coming from your mouth, I’m only going to get out of bed long enough to tell you, “I told you so” before rolling my eyes and going back to bed. I strongly recommend taking them down like a toddler, one at a time. You’ll feel stupid, but trust me, when you make it to the bottom alive and uninjured after dodging these feline landmines, you’ll thank me.
I hope you don’t like clean clothes because by the time you leave, they will be covered in hair (the cats’, not mine). I can promise that on the day you leave, you will be smothered in enough hair to give our neighbors a thrill assuming they just had their very first Bigfoot sighting.
Unfortunately, the cat hair is unavoidable, and it is everywhere. For example, the cats have only been in my SUV (while confined to a carrier) for trips to the vet and the few times I had to stash them in there while my former house was being shown; however, there is so much cat hair in my car that you would think they steal it for nightly joyrides while my husband and I sleep.
There is more, but I’m sure you’re pretty bored by now. I guess this will get you started. And when the cats frustrate you, just remember that you get to eventually leave. I have to live in this Hell.