Every night, when I go to bed, the kitty Liam usully follows me and falls asleep on the pillow next to me. It’s really heart-meltingly cute, and would be even cuter if he didn’t have the habit of waking up at three o’clock in the morning and tearing around the apartment, or fighting with one of the stray cats around here through the sliding glass door onto the patio. (At least I assume that’s what they’re doing. Maybe they want to be friends, I don’t know. Regardless, they bat at each other through the glass; it’s about as noisy as a handful of marbles tossed into a blender.)
After the requisite “wake Franklin up in the middle of the night,” Liam comes back to bed and curls up on the pillow again until morning comes.
Morning brings with it sharp teeth. The cat, you see, usually wakes up before I do, and morning is his “pet me” time. He lets me know it’s “pet me” time by biting my nose until I’m awake, then biting my nose until I pet him.
Come to think of it, we have kind of a dysfunctional relationship, he and I. He badgers me into giving him attention, and I provide it.
I open my eyes each morning and see, blurry and out of focus, cat teeth right in front of my face. I can’t help but think this is the last sight of many a small prey animal throughout history, and that if I were small enough for him to eat, he would no doubt make me into an hors d’oeuvres in a heartbeat.
I keep my cell pone next to my bed, so this morning, when Liam woke me with his customary “Pet me! Pet me, hyooman, or I shall rip the nose from your face and devour it before your very eyes!” routine, I snapped some phone camera pics so you, too, can see what I go through every morning.
Notice how he grabs my face with his paws. This is so he can prevent me from moving my nose away.
His teeth and claws are very sharp. Weird, it is, that we as a species enjoy sharing our homes with small predators.