On Cats and Sleeping: an Essay

Clearly, he missed me
while I was in Kenya.

I am a terrible sleeper. I think I may have mentioned it before. It is not one of my skills. I never sleep through night. I can’t remember ever laying my head on the pillow and then waking up hours later to the sound of my alarm. But truthfully, I don’t believe that there really are people who can do that. They are either A) lying or B) very forgetful. I think it would be possible to wake up in the middle of the night and check your Whatsapp messages and then fall back asleep and forget that you did that. But because I spend so much time awake in bed at night, and because my memory is superior to yours, I never suffer from delusions of sound sleeping.

I’m pretty sure that my terrible sleeping habits will doom me to a life of obesity, cancer, and juvenile arthritis, as I’ve read many articles about what a terrible thing it is not to get enough sleep. They always offer helpful advice like, “stop drinking caffeine before bed” or “do some yoga stretches to unwind.” These are nice in theory, but they don’t work. I’ve tried. So now I just accept who I am and embrace it, like all the other magazine articles in the world advise you to do. Of course those magazine articles also suggest you buy expensive clothes and/or eye serums to help you do that, but I can't be bothered by that stuff.

Here in Chad, my sleeplessness continues as it has in every other country I’ve ever lived in, but here, at least, I have a companion. His name is Felix. He is the cat in the house where I live. As a nomad, the idea of renting a house for myself is rather daunting. Because if I agree to let someone else pay money to put a contract on a house, that pressures me to committing to living in that country for some time, and that is a stressful idea. So when I found out I could stay at Naomi’s house while she is at home chilling (literally—it just snowed there) in Northern Ireland, I jumped at the chance. And when I found out that I would be watching her cat, I thought, “That sounds fun. I’ve been wanting a furry little pet for some time now”, though I haven’t been able to get one because of the nomadic life. (And mice that eat your food and your clothes and crap all over your house do not count.)

"Give me what you're eating!" ~ Felix the Cat
(I was eating cashews. He ate them too.)

Felix is entertaining. That is true. But he is not exactly a cuddly pet that I had been planning to get for myself. Still, he is interesting. You may love or hate cats, but they are interesting. Of course, they do think they are better than us, and Felix is not the exception to that rule.  But the difference between Felix and most cats is that he has had ample opportunity to be brought down by the neighborhood bully. So somewhere deep inside, he knows that he is not the greatest in the world. He is second to the Nemesis.  Naomi wants to call the Nemesis “Nero” but I feel like that gives some legitimacy to his lounging in our garden. Nero was the emperor of most of the places at that time, after all. So he had some legal claim to lounge wherever he wanted. But this mangy piece of cat fur has NO right to be in our garden, but he comes in anyway.  Sort of like the European colonizers in America that Pocahontas sang to, “You think you own whatever land you land on!” And of course, whenever he is in our land, he fights with Felix, if Felix happens to be out at the time. And Felix inevitably loses. Because his Nemesis gets in his head.  And also because Felix is significantly smaller than Nero/evil European colonizers.

So letting Felix out of the house (where he prefers to be because, it’s hot these days and there is at least a breeze outside) is complicated. Sometimes it is totally fine, other times, it could be a matter of life and death. Because of this, I try to keep Felix inside at night.

"Yes, I do think that zucchini bread looks good.
I'll have some. Or I'll sit here and yowl all night long.
Your choice."

The first night I stayed at the house, he busted out the screen door and immediately got in a loud hissing fight. Since then, I’ve kept all doors closed. But that causes the problem of Felix deciding he needs to get up and get out every morning around 4:30 or 5:00am. He is impressively accurate about the time. However, I try to sleep until 6:00 every morning because, that helps make it more likely that I will have slept about 5-6 cumulative hours in the night, which is pretty good for me. So I find it annoying to be woken up by kitty claws poking into the hand that I throw over the edge of the bed while I’m “sleeping.” The claws are followed by “meowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeow," that doesn’t stop until Felix gets what he wants (me—letting him out early in the morning to hunt bats).  Since noises keep me awake more than claws, I give in easy. Though one morning when he clawed at my foot, I did kick him in the face. (Reflexes, not intentional cruelty. Ok, maybe a little bit was intentional cruelty.) He tipped backwards off the bed, but jumped right back up by my head and went back to meowing loudly in my ear and batting my face with his paw.

On the days when I ignore it long enough to make him mad, he has decided to pee on things in epic cat revenge style—the new bag Desiree gave me to carry drilling parts with me back to Chad from Kenya. The couch over which some clean clothes were draped nicely waiting for me to feel motivated to put them in the closet. NOW I’m always motivated--well-played, Cat. If my mother had tried that method back in the day, maybe I would be a neater person than I am now. And the flip side is that now, if he DOES leave me alone after I’ve ignored him and kicked him in the face, I get worried about WHY he is quiet and if that is because he is planning some more epic cat revenge.

Then there are the days that I let him out early enough, and he was in time to catch some morning bats. I discovered their mangled bodies in a pool of blood on my floor, and was profoundly grateful for the lovely Antani, who comes in to clean the house and told me, “Don’t worry. I can take care of this. He did this to the other girl who watched Naomi’s house a while ago, and she was very upset.” Antani really is the best. And it is so wonderful to have her help me out around the place and discuss the proper French terms for various household items.

The favorite spot of Felix and his Nemesis.
Felix is winning this time. No photos of Nero because
whenever I see him, I throw rocks (or whatever is handy) at him.

Anyway, I finally decided to leave the door with the cat hole in it open—the screen door was closed, but he could go in the little cat flap at the bottom. When I let him out that door in the morning, I usually block it behind him with the can full of rice. He can push it away in desperation if he needs to get in, but if he is holding a struggling bat in his mouth, it would be more difficult. Since developing that system, I have not had any more bats. Thought that could also be because the last time he came in with a bat, I chased him outside, whacking at him with the broom.

Naomi, feeling guilty, as pet owners always do for things her pet did to others while she is gone, suggested I try to leave the door open at night, so that Felix can leave in the morning without disturbing my never-peaceful slumber.  I decided to test it out, because A) I was getting tired of the 4:30am wake-up calls and B) Antani was coming the next day, and I figured she could help me if any bloody bats came in during the wee hours of the morning. But as it turned out, this was not an idea that helped me sleep more.

Clothing-optional weather

At about 1:45am, I became aware of an annoying noise somewhere in my vicinity. “It must me outside,” I thought. The sound of cats fighting—it’s not pleasant and I’ve learned that it is a warning sign for me that I am about to be called into action as the fairy godmother with the rocks. I throw them at the Nemesis. Not accurately, as, in the immortal (paraphrased) words of Oscar Wilde: ‘Anyone can throw accurately, but I throw with wonderful expression.’ And one time, I actually hit it. Other times I hit my own roof over my head and once, in a fit of rage, I threw a leaf, which did not go anywhere. But I yelled while I threw, and that seemed to have the desired affect anyway.

At 1:50am, I realized that the noise was INSIDE my kitchen. I threw on some clothes (when it is 40/104 degrees inside, one does not wear many clothes to bed) and went to investigate. I caught the tail of the Nemesis exiting the cat door (nothing to throw at him, unfortunately) and the tail end of Felix hiding in the bathroom and noticed the new carpet of ginger cat fur covering my kitchen floor, signaling the defeat of the master of the house in his own home by his mortal enemy. So, I took a photo to send to his mom as proof of life and cowardice.

The aftermath. (It looked worse than this in real life. I had to
stay until Antani arrived to explain the situation,
and I was late for work. But I got to tell the story in French,
and I learned some new vocab.)

Then as I was turning off all lights and shutting doors (lesson learned) and heading back to bed, Felix stumbled against my legs and collapsed on my feet, still fuzzed out like a porcupine defending his body. He let me pet him back down to normal size and then we both went back to sleep…until 4:30am when he got brave again and decided he wanted out.

I have contempt for you, foul human.
Now, feed me all your meat and/or tuna
(which sounds like "chinna" when N. Irish Mommy says it)

This has nothing to do with the story.
I just wanted you to see this photo of the
amazing chocolate icing I made.
This is a photo of me making out with it, while listening to Sam Cooke.