Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Changing Times

The time change seems to have sent our house a little off kilter. Yesterday Gorgeous missed an appointment, which I bear some of the responsibility for. I am the official clock changer in our family and I missed the clock in her car. Oops.

On the good side of the equation, the boys are out of the Dog House since the time change. For now. Low Rider must just be a daylight savings cat. Weird.

Gorgeous determined that it was Fat Boy who was having the aiming issues, which is a good thing too because Low Rider had nearly overdrawn his cuteness account. She calculates Fat Boy’s indiscretion was not accidental, which causes me some concern. But she doesn’t seem very worried about it.

Since Gorgeous is our resident cat whisperer, I’m all for going along with her take on things feline. Me, I just sort of notice the boys. Gorgeous trains them. I kid you not. I’ve seen it.

She started soon after we got Fat Boy. He had this tendency to spaz out when it was feeding time. He’s a bit food fixated, which pretty much explains his portly physique. One day after he knocked the food bowl out of her hand and broke it as she was feeding him, she decided to teach him to sit before he got fed.

I thought it was a futile, if admirable, project. I always figured cats were too dumb to be trained. Or was that too smart? I get confused. Anyway she did it and now Fat Boy is very patient and calm at feeding time. She’s done some other things with them, but you get the idea. She’s good. I’ll take her word on the whole Fat Boy aiming thing.

So the boys are out of the penalty box, but I seem to be part of a little sleep deprivation experiment this week. For some reason I keep waking up somewhere in the 0330 – 0400 range and having trouble getting back to sleep. Yesterday I gave up and got up at 0430 so that I wouldn’t wake Gorgeous up.

This morning I woke up and my newly accustomed time and I knew I had to get back to sleep. For one thing, my boss isn’t paying for a zombie, he expects me to actually work. Plus a couple of us are driving up to Charleston for their First Thursday service. We’ll be getting back a little late. Our campus here in Savannah is still a little small to logistically support a midweek evening service. (We’re getting close, though.)

It took me a while to get back to sleep. Every time I rolled over or adjusted, Low Rider would jump off the bed. I guess the idea of being crushed by an oversized man-person doesn’t much appeal to him. Every time he jumped off I expected him to start playing his favorite oh-dark-thirty game of wake-the-humans. But each time after I stopped moving he’d jump back on the bed and curl up by my knee and settle down.

I got the distinct impression that, if Low Rider had thumbs, he would have locked me in the back bedroom so that he could sleep the rest of the night undisturbed.

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