The 3 A.M. Choir
Can someone please explain to my cats that me getting up to use the bathroom at 3 a.m. does not mean I’ve decided to start my day?
Apparently Banner and Balboa missed that memo.
The moment I crawl back into bed, the performance begins. Banner starts with a deep, rich baritone. Then Balboa jumps in with the soprano section. Together they sing the song of their people in perfect harmony.
At 3 a.m.
Again at 4 a.m.
And periodically throughout the remainder of the night, just in case I didn’t fully appreciate the earlier concerts.
The strange thing is they aren’t hungry. Their food bowls are full. They aren’t bored. They have toys, cat trees, windows, and each other.
No. What they want is Mom.
For seventy years I’ve shared my life with cats, and this is the first pair I’ve ever had who seem convinced that darkness is merely a suggestion and sleep is completely optional.
Most of my previous cats liked morning cuddles. They stayed in bed while I was the one getting up.
Not these two.
These two operate under the belief that if one eye opens, the day has officially begun.
They’re six years old now. Weren’t they supposed to calm down by this point?
Honestly, they need to be careful. If they keep depriving me of sleep, they may accidentally eliminate the very person responsible for opening cat food cans, providing fresh water, and scooping litter boxes.
Think about that, boys.
No Mom.
No breakfast.
Clean litter box? No way.
No more servant.
So let’s make a deal. You reset your kitty clocks, and I’ll continue providing room service.
We’ve got a long way to go.
🐈⬛🐈
“Mom got up. Clearly it’s morning.” – Banner and Balboa, 3:01 a.m.
