Every time that Fister has had unhappy experiences away from us, he has come back much more prepared to accept us and appreciate his life up here with us. At the beginning of our journey together he was more or less impossible, but I always said that after 5 years with us he would become a domesticated old softy, and now, after 5 1/2 years it looks as if my prediction was reasonably accurate. (though domesticated old tyrant would probably be a better description).
The latest (and hopefully last) drama, a week in hospital and a horrible operation, has really opened his eyes this time. Now there’s no stopping him! At this very moment he’s standing in the bathroom complaining bitterly because we won’t come out and turn the tap on for him so that he can drink running water from the floor. He probably won’t be bothered to drink it anyway if we do, it’s just the POWER AND CONTROL that’s the interesting bit. He has also begun to shout at us if his litterbox isn’t completely clean. If we go to bed later than usual he will become very restless, complain loudly, and race about the flat knocking things over and generally being very naughty. Since the operation, we have been able to give him small treats, shrimps and ham and all the good stuff he really likes. But this has resulted in him expecting treats all the time. I only have to approach him sleeping in his bed and his head will shoot up, he will stretch out his paw, large open expectant hungry eyes fixed upon my hands. He has also become VERY vocal, but luckily for us he doesn’t miaw very loudly. He’s never miawed much up in our flat, but would usually “talk” to us, having a whole range of little chirps and purrs to tell us what he wanted or how he felt.
This morning was a classic case of “The New Fister”. Unbeknown to me, we had forgotten to leave his food out for his early morning snack. Unforgivable, totally unacceptable, we can’t have this - something’s got to be DONE about it! So the “Waking the Dead” routine took on a whole new meaning. This was SERIOUS!
Get up NOW. This is your last warning!
I have lived with cats all my life, and have incredible respect and love for them, but won’t let them bully me around. So Fister is used to explosive reactions when he tries to wake me. But nothing was going to stop him this morning. It started with his classic secret weapon, the whisker tickle. On my face, in my ears, in my eyes, up my nose, no stone was left unturned. Since this only produced dangerous rumbling sounds and occasional small earthquake-like tremors, he continued his quest elsewhere. First the duvet scratch, which originated as a means of obtaining access under the covers, but which here took on a whole new dimension of urgency. When finally offered the sanctuary of my duvet he just ignored it with a disdainful sniff. THAT wasn’t the point of the excercise now was it! Since none of this was working, he decide to try sitting on me. First he sat on my arm for a while - no reaction. Then he moved on and sat on my chest (7 1/2 kg!), but that became too precarious. So finally, giving up on that, he decided to sit right in front of my face. So when I did eventually wake up my nose was buried in his warm soft coat, making it very difficult to breathe, and I realised that there was a message in this somewhere, and there was just no point in ignoring him any longer.
Luckily for me, Randi decided at this point to get up and the situation was stabilised with the introduction of a new pile of dry food on his favourite plate.
He used to be such a timid, well behaved polite little fellow, but it looks as if those times are now behind us. He certainly seems to be turning into a real little dictator!