Yes, I know. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, right? WRONG - well at least sometimes. On the one hand, she is funny, affectionate, and extremely intelligent. She loves to sleep next to me at nights, cuddled up with her head on my shoulder, and her paw in my hand but ... when Maddie is hungry - be it at 3am - she climbs onto my chest, purrs through a virtual megaphone, and nuzzles my face with her wet little nose. I pretend to be asleep. She miaows. I still pretend to be asleep. She taps me gently on my face with her cold little paw. Keeping my eyes closed, I stroke her head and hold her paw. She increases the volume of her purr by at least a decibel, and taps me harder on my face, claws slightly protruding. I screech with pain and turn over onto my side. She climbs onto my side and continues as before. I metaphorically dig my heals in, keep my eyes closed, and wait for her to give up, which she eventually does.
With a sigh of relief, I begin to drift off ... Then WHAM! She lands from a height onto my chest and bounces off onto the dressing table, knocking over bottles and sending jewellery flying on her way to the windowsill. I fight for breath, roll out of bed, and stagger out of the bedroom in search of my asthma pump. Breathing again, I turn around to return to my bed and come face to face with the little, white monster, who is now crying out as if she hasn't eaten for six months. "It's too early," I say in my most assertive middle-of-the-night voice. Maddie, now wailing in desperation, follows me and settles down by my cold, cramping feet.
I wiggle my toes to ease the cramp, forgetting that to Maddie, this is an invitation to play 'catch-the-foot', which increases my pain tenfold. I leap out of bed and walk up and down the cold hallway floor... Relief - the cramp disappears ... but not Maddie! She is purring at my feet and attempting to lead me into the kitchen where her food lives.
At this point (and why didn't I do it sooner?) I submit. With bleary eyes, I find a sachet of food, while she screams even louder at me to hurry up as she's at the point of death by starvation. I fill her dish with her watching my every move and then follow her to her eating area, where she almost snatches the dish from my hand. "Don't eat it too fast," I mumble before I make my way back to my lukewarm bed.
Ahh! Relief. But before I even close my eyes, Maddie is back claiming her sleeping space just where I want my feet to go and becoming a ten-ton immovable mass. I reposition my feet nearer to the edge of the bed, and she moves as close to them as is possible. I'm falling into an involuntary stupor as she remembers she needs to do her ablutions before settling down. Fine! I don't mind that at all ... until ... she decides to bite her nails with a vigour that makes the bed tremble and my teeth go on edge. "Be patient," I tell myself. "It's good that she's so fastidious.
"It's almost light outside by now. There's maybe an hour until my alarm goes off at 8am. "Don't forget I rescued you," I murmur as I wonder if there an organisation that rescues and rehomes cat owners. Seriously, though, I love her to the moon and back.
