Malicious Moses proves yet again that he will not be ignored

One of the most adversarial relationships to which I have ever been akin is that of my wife and my cat. Every day, and I really do mean every single day, Moses finds a way to mess with Kristin. It might be as subtle as slowly sauntering into her studio to inconspicuously reach up and pull the cup of painting water off her drawing table or as brash as charging into the same room at full speed to leap to the top of her office chair and ride it wildly around in circles. Either way, this cat is hell bent on distraction — and if distraction alone doesn’t do the job of pushing Kristin over the edge, destruction is the logical next step.

Want to capture someone’s attention? Try chewing on their houseplant with reckless abandon right in front of them. Even if that same action leaves you coughing up foaming fur balls a half-hour later, your purpose will have been triply served. First, you will have at least minimally damaged the plant. Next, you’ll have subsequently created a mess on the floor, which your nemesis will invariably be forced to clean up. And finally, you will have pushed her over the ragged edge of crazy. Screaming and cursing though she may go, her hands will be occupied and therefore unable to brandish her go-to weapon — the spray bottle filled with water.

I have witnessed this interplay more times than I can count. Moses works on Kristin like it’s his job. He’s not after food. He’s got plenty of water. His litter box is cleaned every morning by yours truly before Kristin even wakes for the day. This is not about needs, but rather about wants. Tension, anticipation and in most cases a satisfying jolt of kitty adrenaline — that’s what the cat is after. She falls into the same trap over and over again.

I have often reminded Kristin that if she didn’t react to Moses by screaming, cursing, squirting and occasionally even throwing random objects in his direction, he would quickly lose interest and head off to quietly claw holes in the furniture or knock things off the shelves in unoccupied rooms. And yet she persists.

“That jerk of a cat never does any of these things to you,” Kristin has said. “One of these days, he’s going to turn on you, then you’re going to find out!”

“One of these days” actually turned out to be one of those nights. I had been sleeping in the living room recliner for going on three weeks while remodeling our bedroom. (Kristin had called dibs on the small twin bed in our guest room.) My sleeping situation was ideal for Moses, who has since his long-ago kittenhood, spent many nights purring peacefully on the center of my chest. Sometimes he even places a paw on each side of his beloved master’s face while doing so. This particular evening, however, saw me tossing, turning, sneezing and wheezing with a raging head cold. I’d shooed Moses away repeatedly in my struggles. He did not take it well.

In the darkness I heard him wandering about, chewing on a plant here, tipping over a cup there, gnawing on a piece of newsprint with finicky disgust. He was obviously trying to get under my skin, but I stuck to my own advice, ignoring him as best I could.

It worked. There was silence, and I soon drifted into the first peaceful sleep I’d had all night.

Kristin’s payback for 10 years of torment came in one swift and deliberate cat-dash along the entire length of the piano keyboard situated just a few feet from my head — seven octaves of retribution all in the span of a few seconds, much of which I spent flying through the air as if ejecting from a spiraling F-16. Moses dashed for the shadows before I even hit the ground. Kristin may have a point about this cat.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John atjlorson@alonovus.com.