by Marshia Whitman

Created on: December 02, 2008

It's too early....yup, way to early to get head-butted in the face by the cat looking for affection. It's too early for him to sit on my arm so I can't use my mouse. It's entirely too early for him to sit on my textbooks and make a mess of my essay notes.

What a cat.

It's too early for him to try to take a five minute nap among my bamboo shoots. It's too early for him to forget that the balcony door is actually closed as he attempts to pounce at birds like the brave lion he thinks he is.

What do I do with this thing?

It's too early to see him bolt up and down the hallway and then forget that the kitchen floor has no carpet. It's really too early to watch him bounce off the stove, the fridge then the kitchen chair.

I hate morning frenzies.

It's too early to watch him run up the couch, down the couch, over the chair, over the other cat, around the front room three times, over the cat condo, over the filing cabinet, over my head, over and under the kitchen table, and over the TV which he discovers is a bit too high and parts are similar in composition to the balcony door.

I swear he's going to be a fur coat. Wait...he's too small. A stoal then maybe?

It's too early to be writing and feel oh so sharp little teeth digging into the flesh of my hand. Oh far too early to feel his claws in my leg as he takes a flying leap at me as I walk past. It's too early to watch him jump from very high ground because he thinks that he is indeed invincible, learning that he just lost about five lives yet pretending that he meant to. It's too early to watch him eat my Mother-In-Law's Tongue plant and yet...somehow appropriate.

He's driving me nuts.

It's too early to watch him stand in one location, carefully calculating the next jump, forgetting that his depth perception isn't what it used to be since losing his eye. It's too early to watch him jump about 16 inches to the edge of my desk...and miss. It's too early to watch him leap up the verticals, intent on saving the shadow-in-distress at the top only to plummet, naturally on purpose, to the death of three more lives.

You know what, though? Maybe I should be more like that cat. No, not the annoying, maddening, make-you-want-to-shear-him cat. Not the cat that wakes me at 3 a.m. because he decided that playing in the cat litter is just oh so much fun. Not the cat that decides at 5 a.m. he's hungry and so makes a snack of my hair using claws to soften my scalp in the process. I mean the brave cat. The cat that takes chances, that lives life to the fullest, that's full of love for everyone. The cat that doesn't judge and accepts everyone as they are.

I think I want to live like my cat. Don't worry, though, I won't wake you because I decided to play in the cat box.

*Dedicated to our youngest kitty, our resident delinquent who we love so much. What a joy early morning is with him! Incidentally, we're not sure how he lost his eye. That happened before he chose us at the petting zoo, which is a story unto itself. We just had the damage repaired. He really doesn't seem to realize that his depth perception isn't quite what it was and that creates interesting and hilarious results. He may be a delinquent but he's oh so entertaining!

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