Life with cats Archives

The Sleep Deprivation Olympics (I’m Winning… Unfortunately)

I’m running on 3.5 hours of sleep, and honestly, at this point I’m not sure if I’m awake or just hallucinating in HD. Ever since we “sprang forward,” Banner has decided that nighttime is the perfect time to reinvent himself as a one‑cat Broadway production.

Balboa, shockingly, is the calm one at bedtime. This is the same cat who sprints down the hallway like he’s reenacting The Fast and the Furious: Feline Drift, but come bedtime? He becomes my personal sleep therapist. He sits by my head, stares at me like a disappointed Victorian father, and waits for me to assume the “correct position.” Then he curls up on my hand, presses his face into mine, and purrs like a tiny, furry white-noise machine. I’ve grown dependent on this. I’m not proud.

Meanwhile, Banner Begins His Nightly Performance

Banner refuses to get into bed. That would be too easy. Instead, he begins the Symphony of Increasingly Urgent Meows, starting soft and sweet and escalating until it sounds like he’s reporting a murder.

I turn on the light. I get out of bed. And there he is — perched on top of the dresser like a gargoyle who pays rent. The moment I stand, he hops down and climbs onto the bench next to the bed, ready for his nightly petting session with the rubber mitt.

So I pet him. I tell him he’s a good kitty, remind him it’s bedtime. I tell him to stop crying. He purrs so hard his whole body vibrates like a furry jackhammer. But I can’t do this too long or he starts biting the glove like he’s trying to “encourage” me. I don’t want to find out what the next level of encouragement looks like.

The 3 A.M. Bathroom Adventure

Eventually he settles… until my bladder betrays me around 3 a.m.

I keep the bathroom door closed at night because Banner LOVES the acoustics in there. He sounds like he’s auditioning for Cats: The Shower Edition. And if he’s not singing, he’s knocking everything out of the medicine cabinet like a tiny, destructive raccoon.

But now I have to open the door. I keep the lights off, hoping to sneak in and out without waking anyone. Foolish. Banner follows me in every time, hops into the tub, and refuses to get out. I can’t close the door because His Royal Stubbornness is lounging in the tub like he’s at a spa.

The Bed Situation (Or: Why I Sleep on 6 Inches of Mattress)

Balboa has now migrated to the exact center of the bed. I squeeze myself onto the edge, trying not to squash him. He will not move. He trusts me far too much.

I’m just drifting off again when I hear something behind the headboard. Banner is up to something. Nothing good ever happens behind the headboard. I turn on the light to investigate. Banner has finally left the tub, so I quickly close the bathroom door.

And that’s when I hear it.

Ack (you know the sound), ack, and one more ack for good measure.

The universal sound of a cat preparing to ruin your life.

It’s 3 a.m.
Banner has produced a hairball.
Balboa is sitting upright in the center of the bed like he bought tickets to this show.

Do I Even Try to Sleep Again

I check the time. My brain is fully awake. Banner is trotting around like nothing happened. Balboa is bright‑eyed and ready for breakfast.

Should I even bother trying to go back to sleep?
Probably not.
This is my life now.

At this point, I’ve accepted that I don’t sleep — I simply take short, involuntary cat‑supervision breaks throughout the night. Banner and Balboa run the household. I’m just the exhausted human who pays the rent.

The First Time He Turned on the Bathroom Light

He was still just a kitten when he learned how to flip the bathroom light on. I’ll never forget that moment. The bathroom is right off the bedroom, and suddenly my whole room lit up like a Broadway stage. I shot awake convinced someone had broken in… only to find one very satisfied orange cat who had apparently decided I’d slept long enough.

Banner Making himself at home in the bathroom sink

Between turning the light on and his other favorite pastime — opening the medicine cabinet and knocking everything onto the floor — my chances of a full night’s sleep were slim. My solution back then was simple: childproof covers on the switch and closing the bathroom door at bedtime. Peace returned.

For a while.

The New Trick: The Fan Switch at 3 A.M.

Now Banner has discovered the second switch — the one outside the bathroom that controls the vent fan and a dimmer light. Not as bright, but that fan hum at 3 a.m. could wake the dead. There’s nothing quite like rolling over and seeing the bathroom door outlined in a soft glow… and realizing the switch now has tiny teeth marks.

Look closely. You can see a tiny tooth mark

Yes, teeth marks. Banner doesn’t bump the switch — he bites it. My own little Wreck‑It Ralph in fur.

At least he hasn’t figured out how to open the door. Yet.

Looks like I’ll be buying more childproof switch covers. Again.

Balboa the Bed Hog and Banner the Bench Sleeper

Banner may be the engineer of chaos, but he’s not the cuddler. He prefers sleeping on the bench next to the bed, keeping a dignified distance. Balboa, on the other hand, wants to sleep on my face. Since I only have a twin bed, space is limited — and Balboa takes the lion’s (or should I say panther’s) share.

If I get up in the night, he immediately stretches his full, impressive length across the entire mattress. No room for Mama. And if I try to move him? Deeply offended.