The Witching Hour

Captain's Log: Day (Night...) 4

If you've ever had kids or been around kids a lot you know that there is this definite moment during the day where the wagon wheels fall off and everything erupts into chaos. The Witching Hour. And it is usually right around dinner time. Right around the time where you're trying to whip something healthy and magical for dinner, is when the meltdowns and tantrums were inevitable.

For a cat (or in my situation, four...) The Witching Hour occurs at exactly 10:27pm. Right at the moment when 79% of the time I am finally getting into my gloriously comfortable bed. I am pulling my bamboo sheets up. Snuggling under my warm blanket and down comforter, and if we're lucky, I may have already turned off the light. Then the shenanigans begin. Mind you, all of these felines have been leisurely sleeping all day. They are cozy on my bed. They are sunning themselves by the sliding glass door in the kitchen. One of them probably has probably spent the day lounging on my laptop. Lazy bums ALL DAY, until 10:27pm. THEN it's utter chaos.

As it's been some time, allow me to reintroduce my cats. We all know Pepper the Savage, killer of rats, stalker of lizards and the "OG" cat to this brood. (We will spare a moment of silence for Whiskey, Pepper's littermate and unfortunate soul who ignored my request for him to come in overnight back in 2021 and met his demise with either a neighborhood bobcat or coyote. We know this is true as 1) we heard a commotion in the wee early moments of the day 2) there was some fur on the top of the back gate and 3) The Middle Child found his collar along the embankment heading to "The Hill" aka the open space across the street from us. It was very, very sad.) The kids talked me into going to the local shelter on Mother's Day 2024 to "get another cat" which ended up being two - PJ (Pepper Junior), who is a spitting image of Pep but much, much dumber and just wants to eat, and his sister Cocoa, an all black darling with a tiny little white spot on her tummy. She is my love, and snuggles up on my right side every night as if to protect me from all the scary things. She is not a fan of Rocky/Grizzley/Dre/Burrito/Spaz (it's really Rocky, but we had a hard time deciding on his name, and sometimes it feels like that still doesn't fit right...) , who is the latest of this posse. Rocky is a stripped tabby with weird eyes, likely because of an infection when he was a baby. I saw his little picture on one of the shelter newsletters and tried to resist, but I told myself if he was still there when we got back from Thanksgiving in Colorado, that it was meant to be. And he was. And now I have four cats. They were glad to see him adopted, as he was the longest kitty resident at that moment in time, and while loving, has A LOT of energy and goes from being all about the pets and snuggles to biting your hand off in a matter of seconds. He and PJ are constantly tumbling, chasing and rough housing all over the house. Cocoa can't stand him and hisses anytime he's around her. Which takes us back to 10:27pm.

I was very proud of myself, because I resisted technology at bedtime, was actually in bed with the lights out and could feel myself drifting off. Until Pepper. Despite having numerous litterboxes in my house, Pepper refuses to use any of them, unless it's HIS. Which is impossible because the other cats don't care which box they go in, as long as they have a box to use. As we've learned our lesson about night time cat escapades, Pepper is not allowed outside after sundown if we can help it. So poor Pep is pacing like a four year old who is in the middle of something super important and doesn't want to listen to his body and stop to go potty. He's jumping on my bed. Off my bed. On my bed. Off my bed. Then PJ is doing something that absolutely drives me crazy - he is rubbing his head on my lampshades. Which are custom made by yours truly to match my room decor (who knew making lampshades is actually super easy!). PJ has already rubbed up on one of them enough to make it topple off the night stand and break the actual lamp, so it's like his little kitty brain knows that this action will set me off. Cocoa is standing guard at my side, growling at Rocky any time he comes close to even thinking about jumping on the bed. And then there's Trooper. The 13 year old border collie who we've had since he was a puppy. If you've ever been around a border collie, you know that they can be incredibly territorial and protective of "their herd". Trooper is exceptionally protective of all of us, to the point where he was banned from the local doggy daycare place and if we have to go anywhere he has to stay with family because we can't expect him to act nicely to anyone who may be coming over to feed him. But now that Troop is an old man, he is deaf and I think his sight is going too. So his neurotic tendencies are amplified by the fact that his senses aren't what they used to be, and some nights (ie. the night in question) he paces around and tries to figure out where all of us are. How the heck is anyone supposed to sleep with all this going on?!

The answer is simple, but super annoying because it required me to get out of my nice cozy nest. First, I let Trooper outside in case his pacing was because he actually had to go, despite me letting him out 15 mintues earlier. Old bladder and all that. Then, I banished Pepper to the garage where he has a small litter box for such occasions. I also figured he could just stay out there in case we have any rats or anything who think we've gotten soft lately. Then, I kicked PJ and Rocky out of my room because at least the two of them can bond over being booted out to exile. By this time, Trooper was whining at the door so I let him back in. FINALLY, I'm able to curl back into my bed, with my Emotional Support Kitty (aka. Cocoa, because she is lovely and everything good in this world) protecting me from all the things that go bump in the night.

Weather: Mild and clear