10/21/2010 by Lisa
Our cat Franklin does not do a ton to contribute to the household. Sure, he will give you a cuddle now and then. He’s good for random silliness, like fighting his own tail until he falls down the steps. But really, he doesn’t do too much except sleep. And eat. And cry and moan about the indignities and cruelty he must suffer because it’s 6:32 and he eats at 6:30pm. And when our alarm is set at 7:30 in the morning, you can be sure Franklin will be prying at the door at 7:15 to alert us that we will be needing to wake up shortly to feed him.
Franklin drives my husband bonkers. It’s his cat.
Yesterday, 715 am. “Rawrrrrrr” says Franklin. He starts scratching at the door. A few more seconds go by. “RAWRRRRR,” Franklin reminds us. His head starts banging into the door now, each thud louder and more persistent.
“That’s your cat,” I remind my husband and roll over, taking a good chunk of the blankets with me.
“I’m chopping his tail off” he grumbles and jumps out of bed.
I hear rustling and grumbling from the kitchen as my husband tries to reason with the cat. I slept through most of it because I was desperately trying to return to the awesome dream I was having. I imagine it went something like “When have we ever NOT fed you, Franklin? Do you need to scratch up the doors? Oh quit crying here’s your stupid food” The husband returns to bed, rolls over to catch another 7 minutes of sleep.
The discussion continued last night before bed, though this time, more threatening than reasoning. “Franklin, I will feed you to the outside cats if you do not stop your crying in the morning.” Franklin didn’t seem to care about this threat and yawned–clearly out of spite (or exhaustion from his 47 naps earlier that day).
Exasperated, the husband pleads to me “How do we stop this cat from scratching up the doors?”
Suddenly, I got an idea and ran into the kitchen. “Foil!” (I am the type of person who randomly gets an idea and then screams it out as I run away). I took a sheet of foil and put it in front of the door. I read somewhere that cats hate foil. My husband rolled his eyes, gave me a kiss good night, and went to sleep. I’m sure his last thoughts before dreamland was how insane his wife was. Or he was thinking about how he was going to have a pissed off cat and shards of foil in his feet in the morning.
Sure enough, 7:15 this morning, we get a “Rawrrrr” reminder from Franklin. It sounded slightly further away.
But, there was no scratching. No thumping on the door. No shards of foil everywhere. There was a single bite mark where I imagine Franklin tried to bite through it but could not stand the metallic taste and ran away under the couch to nap.
All in all, I call it a victory.
So, the lesson for today friends: Foil defeats cats.