Before Sarah moved in with me, I used to sleep with the door open, so that Figaro (my cat) could wander in and out. Cats, for the most part, resent closed doors. But Sarah had asthma, so Fig was barred from the bedroom. He expressed his displeasure by scratching at the door at all hours, and he even managed to work the doorknob once or twice.
So I placed the Vacuum Cleaner, Devourer of Kitties, just inside our bedroom door, turned on but not plugged in. When Figaro would scratch and yowl, Sarah would mumble, “Go ahead, I’m awake,” and I would roll over and plug in the vacuum cleaner. Then we would hear vases breaking as Fig ricocheted off the furniture in the living room, and I would unplug the noisy and we would go back to sleep.
This worked like a charm. After about four days, Fig was cured of waking us up.
For a short time after Sarah died, I tried sleeping with the door open. I thought I could use the company. But, surprisingly, I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping without someone stepping on my face. So Fig is once again barred from the bedroom, and for the most part he doesn’t complain.
Skip to the present day. I slept at the Hous of Grous Wednesday and Thursday night, so Nate and I could help take care of Jennifer while Beth and Paul were at the hospital. I didn’t sleep that well, what with one thing and another. Thursday night was particularly rough. We had a wild rainstorm, and every time the wind blatted the rain up against the windows, I’d jolt awake, certain that my basement was flooding again.
Well, the basement didn’t flood. And so Friday night, as soon as Nate was asleep, I climbed into bed and prayed for eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
However! I had spent three days away from Figaro, except for the five minutes I was here on Thursday evening, cleaning leaves and earthworms out the drain trap by the back door in preparation for the rain. Apparently Fig was a bit lonely, a bit starved for affection, and decided that what he needed most was a good cuddle session… at four o’clock this morning.
I shut him in the bathroom and went back to sleep.
Nate, praise Allah, slept an hour and a half later than usual, so that I got almost ten and a half hours of sleep, except for the few minutes it took me to imprison my demon cat.
When I got up, I discovered that Fig had somehow managed to free himself from the bathroom. I also discovered that Fig had managed to rid himself of a hairball, and most of his dinner, on the bathroom rug. I say it’s a small price to pay for a good night’s sleep.
How funny you should write about this now… we had to start shutting our new cat, Irene, out of the bedroom since we brought Cole home and in the past two weeks she has managed to destroy the bottom of the bedroom door as well as the carpet around it. So much for that deposit. I’m totally stealing your vacuum trick tonight.
Goodnight, Irene. You’ll have to let me know if it works for you. A new baby is so hard to explain to a cat: that they are no longer the official Waker of the World.
Also: congratulations! Hi Cole!
Thanks for watching Jennifer! I hope she was good for you.
We recently started putting our cat, Mr. Kitty, in the basement for the night. We call it “his bedroom suite”.
Are you kidding? She was an angel. On the other hand, Nate was… “expressing his individuality.”
Our cat does the scratching/meowing/howling/banging at the door thing. At five in the morning. In our old apartment, we used to lock him in the bathroom at night (cruel, yet necessary), but now the bathroom is right next to our room, so we can HEAR him through the wall. So we’ve resigned ourselves to laying as still as possible during the door-pounding session, and eventually he gets tired of it and stops, and we can go back to sleep. But if you move a muscle, he knows you’re awake and redoubles his efforts. Cats. Aren’t they a joy?