Just a Little Pin Prick

My cat, Atticus has sharp claws-Principally because he is an indoor/outdoor cat and we want him to be able to defend himself. He gets in scuffles all the time. So far, I think he's undefeated. There have been occasional chunks of fur missing from the top of his head, but never from his hind quarters which leads me to believe he doesn't turn tail too often.

That's all well and good, but the real reason he has sharp claws is that he is a gigantic wuss. He cries and wriggles and generally acts like he's having a grand mal seizure every time we clip him. The noises he makes are actually really disconcerting. We have to wonder if we're hurting him. And then Juliette comes up, puts he paw in Emily's palm and sits there like she's at the spa.

With Atty, it really is a huge, dramatic thing. It doesn't have to be, of course, but he makes it so. And, we are therefore loath to do it and don't do it often. Until we have to.

We have to.

My right arm looks like I have a love affair with the needle. Atticus, like all good house cats, thinks he's people. And as such, when he decides he wants a spot somewhere, he just takes it, regardless of whether there is an actual spot there.

And so it has been the last couple nights, Atticus apparently reasoned that if we are sleeping on the bed, oriented like people are, than so should he be. Why curl up in a little ball at the feet of your master, when you can stretch out all the way down the center of the bed? Except that Emily and I have arms, of course, and those arms occupy the space that, in his head anyway, belongs to Atticus.

And so he fits as best as he can and then alternates bothering Emily and I to see which one will roll to their side, thus affording him the space he deserves for being such a productive member of the family. This bothering typically takes the form of kneading our arms with the aforementioned talons of terror. I sleep in short sleeves, always. I am not a fan of long sleeves, ever, but I put up with them by day. I have never been cold enough that I wished for long sleeves in bed. A couple times, back in the day when I wasn't sure who I was, I put on a long sleeved tee-shirt at bed time only to find myself changing shirts midway through the night.

Anyway, Atticus did a number on my right arm last night, just as he did a number on Emily's left arm. We look like Sid and Nancy Vicious. Well, I am way too fat to be a smack fiend, but if you look at the punctures and scrapes on my arms you could be forgiven for momentarily thinking otherwise.

Right now, it is the end of my work day, and Atticus is on one of the guest beds, curled up in a little ball the way a cat is supposed to sleep. But tonight, like every night, he will no doubt come crawling up again, using his claws to get what he wants. There is another reason to eagerly anticipate the coming of the warmer months... that stupid cat can sleep outside under the stars and I can sleep the way God intended it... being encroached upon by my wife instead of my cat.