The Story of a Cat Losing His Mind

So the cat last night got very weird. Weirder than normal.

As like most cats Pookie sleeps 23+ hours a day.  He and I have a routine though – and it fits well with his sleep schedule. 

He’s a very predictable cat, usually. Sometimes, however, his little kitty brain short circuits and he becomes the creature from the black lagoon.  He literally goes off his rocker.    

Last night about 3:15 am there was a loud bang outside that woke me – and consequently the cat.  It was loud enough, and I swear the house shook, that I had to get up and investigate.

Now, it’s important for the story that you know the last 2 years Pookie has slept with me, on the bed, on the same bedding, in the same house.

So up we got, trotted, blurry eyed downstairs to investigate.  Flipping on lights as I went assuming if a stranger was in the house, I’d rather he hear me coming (yes I’m generalizing that it would be a he, but it most likely would be) than surprise him.

Nope. Nothing. All is well at Chez Jenn’s.  I start upstairs and I noticed the Pookster is drinking water.  Fine. Good, even. Drink up buddy boy.  He’ll be up shortly.

I get upstairs, snuggle back into bed and start to dose off.  I feel Pookie hop up on the bed…and this is where it gets weird.

You know how cats, when startled, jump 50 feet in the air?  And then they slink up to whatever startled them to check it out? Then if it moves they jump again? Yah well…this was the game of the night.

Pookie hopped up on the comforter covered bed at the bottom left corner, which he does a dozen times a night over the last 2 years. Nothing out of the ordinary, except I then  feel him jerk as if he’s been startled. I sit up to see him slinking across the comforter as if he’s never seen it before. Every step is tentative, and he bristles back and jumps as if the comforter is biting him.

Remember my important note above? Nothing has changed in the last 2 years, let alone the last 15 minutes to make him act so weird.

Yet, with each step of the paw he freaks out. Then he jumps down. Then Up. Then down…Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

This went on for 10 minutes. Finally, I figured, perhaps the electric blanket is giving off weird electrical vibes.  Mind you the blanket has been on since 10pm that night and he was sound asleep on it before.  And it’s on almost every night, so I didn’t really think it was anything odd. Still I got up, unplugged it thinking, maybe, just maybe his sensitive paws are getting shocked. (Only later would I actually wish for that – ahem)

I settle in. He jumps up on the laundry hamper at the end of my bed. And I feel him – tentatively – touching the comforter. He takes a step and back off.  He does this a dozen times. Each paw tap he jerks back.  Then he starts meowing – a cry for help to be sure. I ignore him.

Then he gets courage. He literally bounced – touching the bed twice- from the end of the bed to my pillow.  And there he sat. On the corner of my pillow looking at the comforter as if it was some huge beast there to eat him.  

By this time I’m making up scenarios in my head…like…

1.       Are we having an earthquake?

2.       Can he smell death and I’m dying?

3.       Maybe there is some mystic force on the comforter now and it’s going to swallow me whole in the night and Pookie’s warning me.

4.       Or maybe his little kitty pea brain has finally lost it.

So as he was sitting on my pillow corner. Just sitting. Staring. I decided to shift a little and moved so he has more pillow and I’m more comfortable – I shift my leg ever so slightly. You would have thought I shot that damn cat of a cannon. He leaped so high and landed directly over my head on the other side of my pillow. Freak!

Giggling, I stuck my hand out to make sure his little heart hadn’t stopped and was greeted with a very distinct meow that’s usually only reserved for when I’ve really pissed him off.

He snubbed my attempt to pet him and hopped down. I sat up slightly to see if he was dying or something worse – hacking up a fur ball – and watched him slink around the bed as if there was some sort of invisible bubble he would not penetrate.

That’s it. He’s finally lost it. I’m going to have to commit him, which I decide I’d take care of in the morning.

I fell asleep. I have no idea where he slept the rest of the night.

6:30 the alarm goes off. No Pookie on the bed so he must have slept elsewhere.  Now, my normal routine on cold mornings is to hop into the shower, hop out and slip back into bed to warm up and let my hair dry a bit. Pookie’s habit is to follow me into the bathroom tell me all about his night, then wait until the shower turns off and he follows me back to the bed. Usually hopping up, waiting for me to lay on my side, then he plants himself on my hip.

This morning I assumed he’d not pass the mythical shield that appeared last night.

I hopped back into bed, and up hops Pookie. He walks across the comforter and settles down to rest on my hip – acting as if the whole 3:15 incident didn’t even take place. I just stared at him in bewilderment.

Then I got to wondering, “Did it take place? Or did I dream it?”

I know Pookie’s at home on the bed laughing his ass off at how successful his prank was on me during the night.