I can only guess that Susan’s cat Bink (that’s him peeking out from under the covers in this blog’s banner) was making a statement by staying out these past three night that he didn’t like it — didn’t like it at all — that his momma was out of town.
See Bink can be notoriously stubborn, but lately he and Susan have worked out a system when it comes to dinner time, where she confines the dogs in the study with treats and then she walks out to the side gate and calls him to come inside and damn if he doesn’t get his mosey on.
I tried that Friday night and nothing. I even tried to mimic the pitch of Susan’s voice and the words she uses (“Bink! C’mon buddy! C’mon Dude!”) and I swear I heard Bink snicker from his favored spot near the trash cans. I was so distraught and preoccupied with his failure to come in out of the dark that I ended up pretty much up all night — which was good because at 3 a.m. there was Bink by the backdoor screen finally fucking ready to come in.
Of course, my frustrations gave way to relief and I welcomed the bastard with grateful hugs and his very late dinner.
Saturday was pretty much a wash from the lack of sleep. I didn’t get grocery shopping done, I didn’t get to the driving range. About the only thing I’d eventually accomplished was laundry and vacuuming. After the animals’ breakfast Bink went outside and I hoped we wouldn’t have a repeat of Friday, but we did.
This time I managed some fitful beligerent sleep until I awoke with a start at 2 a.m. The only time one should awake with a start at 2 a.m. is if they’ve just won the lottery and they need to pinch themselves to make sure it isn’st a dream. Me, I came out of night-night wondering if Bink was at the backdoor.
Nope, he wasn’t.
Neither was I going back to slumberville, which was a good thing because when Bink finally sidled up to the rear portal screen at 4 a.m. there I was to once again stow the anger and just be damn glad he was safe and sound.
Since I was up to greet Sunday’s gray dawning I decided to make the best of the sleep deprivation and get my ass out onto some fairways and greens for some real world swings of my clubs (part of the final preps for my first venture in 2.5 years onto a PGA championship-level course next week when I travel to Savannah).
Before leaving I’d also decided to prevent a three-peat of Bink’s bullshit, I’d close him up in the bedroom after breakfast, but wouldn’t you know the cantankerous conspiratorial cat escaped before containment commenced. Curses!
And now it’s Monday morning. I snoozed until about midnight when I awoke with what’s become a familiar start but there was no Bink when I checked the backdoor — and at least this time there was no insomnia and I was able to re-slumber the rest of the night away, or at least until 4:45 whenI woke again and there was still no Bink.
Hopefully he will make an appearance before I have to leave for work and I can give him a begrudging hug and tell him his momma will be home today and he can go back to not being a pain in my ass.
UPDATE (7:12 a.m.): The prodigal cat returns. As I was prepping breakfast for the rest of the cooperative crew of catz ‘n dawgz in the kitchen there was Bink at the backdoor demanding to be let in and fed. Yay! Happy ending. And here’s his “Forget the stress I put you through, where’s my breakfast!?” look:
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