The Quest for Sleep, parts 5 and 6

Sunday evening, we struck gold.

Kyle realized that almost the only way we could prevent Q. from climbing would be to block off the lower half of the tower o' gates. To do this, we employed the card table. When it is folded up and on its side, it provides an adequate barrier, too high for Quincy to jump above and too smooth for him to climb. We were very much counting on this working.

Monday morning, we awoke to Kyle's 4:45a alarm. I think we both might have smiled sleepily, thanking God and Quincy for an undisturbed night of sleep. I rolled over, attempting a few more hours before I needed to arise.

But, at 6am (a mere 30 minutes prior to my alarm), the scritch-scratching began. Since I'd had an unprecedented night's sleep, I lay awake but still, wondering how long he truly could keep it up. Thirty minutes later, I couldn't stand it anymore, and it was time for me to get ready for the day. During that stint, he paused a few times for a few minutes each, just enough for me to begin to doze, and then he'd start up again, with more vigor. Eventually, it did reach the knocking stage.

When I told Kyle this part, his answer was that he should put the bottom gate up with the card table leaning against it when he leaves in the morning. If that works, we might be able to drop the top, plastic gate altogether.

So, that's what he did this morning, and you know what, Quincy didn't bother me. He was happy to see me from the other side of the gate this morning.

I'm not willing to say we've found a 100% fool-proof way to keep him at bay while we sleep. But I will say that for last night, it worked like a charm. I feel more rested than I could have imagined a few weeks ago. It's awesome.

Evidence

In an effort to demonstrate Quincy's above-average cat-intelligence, I give you the following evidence.

While you will be tempted to think these are set up, I assure you that I have found in the past two months each of these displays. In truth, Quincy has created these on his own and is either leaving them for us to find or is saving these small, perhaps the choicest, pieces for a snack in case we don't feed him.

This is what I found on Thursday after work:

How, exactly, does a cat even do that?

I might suggest that a cat with opposable thumbs

(I've seen 2 of them this winter) could, by who would?

I guess it might be fitting that a cat belonging to Kyle and Myself would have some intensely OCD tendencies. It's apparent Quincy does.

These are ones I have found previously, and are almost as unbelievable as the above, although I really think the 3 in a row on that slim ledge takes the cake. You decide. Is this ridiculous and kind of amazing at the same time?

This one, three in the corner, is the most common one I find.

When he decides to snack on them, he will pull each, individually out with his paw.

I've watched him do that time and again, although I've never seen him arrange them.

Here is a surprising one I found last week. 1 in each corner.

Maybe he's an artist at heart.

The Quest for Sleep, part 4

Last night Kyle and I had a date night. This doesn't occur very often for us because, it seems, something always goes awry on date nights. Usually, it involves being late somewhere, a misunderstanding, and then hurt feelings. Maybe we have "date nights" more often than these rarely scheduled ones, but seriously, we kind of avoid them.

We went out of town for dinner, which was lovely. Kyle had a coffee-encrusted New York strip with asparagus covered in Hollandaise sauce, while I had Atlantic Salmon with chile-lime butter sauce, along with corn cooked with cilantro and home-style mac & cheese. We were in heaven. However, I forgot my ID, so the nice bottle of wine we ordered was something that was only served to Kyle and which I had to sneak drinks from throughout the night (that is, I snuck drinks from his glass, not the bottle...oh dear). It is stupid. It is the story of my life. What woman wants to take a purse with her everywhere? Especially on date nights when she knows that her man has his wallet. I hate purses. I never want to carry them. I try not to at all possible chances. And this has led me to forgetting my ID several times when all we want is a glass of wine with dinner. It's so aggravating.

Anyway.

That was the lead-up to bedtime in the Wilson household. We got home late, were once again exhausted (it had been a full day for both of us), and still had to put sheets on the bed and put away our down comforter (because I'm claiming winter is OVER) and find blankets to substitute for covers.

This weekend, I remembered from my childhood that cats hate aluminum foil. The sound of it, the feel of it under their paws...they loathe it. Er...they are supposed to. I've told you many times that Quincy (or Quindle, as my friend Sara likes to call him) is not like other cats. He's smarter, and he's weirder. He loves water, for instance. Even being sprayed in the face with it (thus that form of correction is futile). He also has been known to steal errant pieces of aluminum foil, carry them away from you, and then proceed to lay on them. So, this foil idea was a gamble. I knew this going in. But, come on, I had to try.

I covered the sides of the gates facing Q. with foil, save for one small section which had to slide on the wooden, bottom gate. We both decided that if the entire upper gate is covered, this small section probably didn't matter.

We set them up (same manner as last night) and proceeded to sleep, hard, for just a few hours. See, my sleep pattern has been so disturbed for so long in the 3a-6a range that I wake up sometime or several times during that particular time slot. And, last night, I had a nightmare anyway, so I was awake for a while.

Around 6, there was a terrifying CRASH! followed by the tinny noise of foil shaking for 30 seconds. And then, there was another smaller crash, a few minutes later. We didn't get up. Same thoughts, same words as last night. Same disbelief. This time, Kyle said, "I'm not getting up until he scratches," which was smart. Except I kept picturing him maimed and bleeding on the other side of the bedroom door, inches away, feebly crying but unable to muster something louder. Plus, I really had to go to the bathroom.

I walked out to find the top gate, that plastic devil, laying cast aside on the floor, actually propped up on the still-standing, still-stable wooden one. Quincy was nowhere to be found. I called him several times, looked in the rooms on my side of the gates, but he wasn't there. I felt badly for him, but cursed him at the same time. And I went back to bed.

Circa 8am, the scratching started. I stepped out of the room to see what was up and the Little Devil eeked his way into the room. Kyle was immediately up and flailing his arms, hitting the bed, and chasing Quincy around the bed. When Q. wedged himself between my side of the bed and the wall, Kyle did his best to push him toward the door, which only managed to infuriate said creature. He sped around the bed in another loop of the room. Kyle chased him, yelling, and Quincy turned, stood his ground and hissed like I have only heard him do two times prior (both toward Kyle and his antics to scare him out of a particular space). It was quite the little drama.

My assumption as to what happened last night is that Q. was hiding under his when-I'm-scared-I-feel-safe-here chair in the guest room, and when I called to him, he was too scared to come to me, near as I was to the gates. So, he was behind the gates, with us, but his fear (and perhaps strained and sore muscles) kept him in hiding for two hours.

This, people, is the saga. It continues, of course, because every day is followed by a night, one in which we seriously ask ourselves...what do you we this time? We're getting pretty creative, as you have heard. Sometimes it seems only a door will keep this social kitty from bothering us. Not our bedroom door (oooh, the scratching), but another door perhaps in the kitchen or laundry room. Are we really going to have to buy a door? Oh my gosh. This pet is starting to get expensive.

The Quest for Sleep, part 3

How is this cat causing so many problems and issues? Look at him? He's beautiful and that face is so sweet. And how peaceful is this picture? He's reclining on my...well, what is that? Oh yes, it's my stretching guide from the physical therapist that he's torn halfway out of the binder. Thanks, Quincy-man.

The saga continues...How Do People Win against the Will of their Pet? (I think I'm very thankful right now that we aren't parents...we would so LOSE if this were a kid who was beating us at the game of life and sleep and will power.)

Night #2 of sleep separation for Quincy began with us, very anxious, but also deliriously tired. Since the stacked gates had worked finally the night before, it seemed only natural to continue that.

Here's what it looks like:

Interestingly enough, Leslie had said something last weekend, as we told the immediate family our intentions of keeping Quincy to himself at night. She thought there would be one way he could get around (or over) this barrier. I scoffed at her. He doesn't have claws...there's no way.

But, in fact, Leslie, you were right.

Saturday morning rolls around and at 8am, I heard a thwumpfff. I was already coming out of sleep (a deep, luxurious, full 8-hour sleep; simply unheard of) when I heard it. I lay still for a moment and whispered to Kyle, he did it again!!

The scratching started shhh....shhh.....shhh....shhhh.

"How did he do it?!" We both, in turn, asked. But we had no answer. Upon our investigation, both gates were securely latched. The only options were that he catapulted himself from the couch over them (which I just cannot imagine--not saying it couldn't happen, I just can't picture it), or, like Leslie foretold, he climbed them.

How did he do this? In my greasy, sleepy state, I was utterly confused.

While this is a very smart cat (more on that later), and a limber cat, he is not small by any stretch of the imagination. He's big-boned, very fluffy, and perhaps getting a bit portly. I don't know how the gates could support all of his weight enough for him to climb up and over. On the other hand, it didn't happen until 8am, so he spent the entire night contemplating how to outsmart the system. You know he did.

It was unbelievable.

So, again, I ask: What are we going to do?!

Here I am, very defeated.

Look at how Proud that Stinkin' Tail is?!

The Quest for Sleep, part 2

We made a decision on how to discipline Quincy, and it was not a light decision. We deliberated for a few days, all the while receiving fewer and fewer hours of sleep because of his...loving nature.

You may mock us (feel free, I do it often) and you may think it's overkill, but when I reveal the outcome, you also may be shocked.

I know a lot of people who think cats are dumb animals, and while they do some stupid things, because of this bundle of furry energy in our midst every day, I now believe cats are quite smart, and cunning when they need to be. Quincy has actually turned out to be a problem solver (more on that later). And he knows things, like the sound of Kyle's car engine as compared to mine or the equally-sporty truck across the street. Whenever he hears Kyle's car, he runs to the door in anticipation of some fun.

Our decision for discipline for him was to purchase a child-proof gate to put up in our hall, so as to afford him some space for nighttime roaming, while keeping him far enough away from us that we wouldn't hear his cries of protest (he hates, like most cats, being confined for any reason). But see, because I know this cat, I know how smart he is, we decided to purchase two gates and to stack them. No matter how tall (even if labeled "TALL" by the manufacturer), Quincy would outsmart the gate. He would use the couch as a springboard and launch himself, however precariously, across the divider.

I bought one "tall" wooden gate and one normal-sized plastic gate. Last night was our first attempt at sound sleep. I was really excited at the prospect because I'm exhausted. I need some respite from the little dude's night roaming and cuddling and playing.

The setup was normal plastic gate on bottom, big wooden gate on top. As we lay in bed, I remember saying to Kyle that I felt as if we'd wake up to the all-too-familiar scratching at the door because I had an inkling Quincy would bust these gates down to get to "his people." We laughed and quickly passed out.

I woke up somewhere around 3:30a (the usual time, these days) and strained my ears for signs of struggle outsider our closed bedroom door. I couldn't make out any distinct sounds (distorted as they were by the fan in our room). All of the sudden I heard a CRASH!!, and my heart pounded ferociously....He didn't. Seconds later, shhh....shhh.....shhh....shhhh. Kyle awakened with a "no he didn't....how did he do that?!"

Investigation revealed that he'd plowed through the lower gate (it's plastic), probably with a running start from the kitchen. Kyle attempted to reset the gates and tossed the cat over them.

It couldn't have been more than an hour and a half when I heard a thump! And the soft scratching followed. We both went out that time, completely incredulous. Kyle had only left the "tall" gate up and Quincy had, indeed, used the couch (which is several feet away) as a launching point for propelling himself clear of the gate and into our sanctuary. Stupid, brilliant cat!

This time we ratcheted up the gates' staying pressure, kept the heftier wooden gate on bottom, and did our best to secure the flimsy plastic gate on top. We went back to bed shaking our heads. Meanwhile, Quincy was furious.

I'm not sure I ever went back to sleep. I could heard muffled cries through the door for a while after the second banishment, and honestly, we both felt badly for doing this. Which is insane. The cat, truly, is ruling the roost here.

Tonight, we will try again. Or, perhaps we will rethink this. Surely, if we locked him in a room, he couldn't open a door, could he?

The Quest for Sleep, part 1

I believe I've alluded to the difficulties our dear little kitty has been giving us with regard to letting us sleep. I can't find a specific blog entry that describes this, but let me just point out that Quincy's most active times seem to be at night. Also, his most loving times are at night, when he simply needs human contact...with your face.

When we first adopted this precious being, we would not allow him in our bedroom in order to prevent it from becoming overrun by errant fur. This cat sheds; he is so fluffy, you know.

That lasted a month or so, until he realized that he could get our attention by scratching his clawless furred paws on the bedroom door.

At first, it starts off slow with one paw, a shhh.......shhh......shh....

If he doesn't receive confirmation that we're wake or if he hears us stir, it becomes more frantic, the pace quickens and both paws get involved: shhh..shhh...shhh...shh..shh.shh.shhshshshshshsh

At which point we groan and either get up to see if he needs food, or simply open the door and fall back into bed.

On nights when it takes a particularly long period of time for us to awake, his furred scratching actually begins to sound like solid knocking. It's absurd, but it is true. Very true. And startling when you wake up to that.

When Quincy enters the bedroom, he bounds with an audible and happy, throaty "prrhhh" onto me. Yes, just me. All of Quincy's affection at night is bestowed on me, not on Kyle. He sits around my face, or inches up, ever so slowly, from my stomach to touch my face with his nose or paw. He drapes himself over parts of my pillow, or pushes me away from the edge of the bed, sleeping sideways in the space that a normal-sized person would.

While these are sweet things, they are not things I ever wanted to incorporate into my nightly routine. I don't like waking up at 3, 4, 5, or 6 am. I don't sleep well to begin with and typically these are my deepest hours of sleeping. More recently, since January maybe, Quincy has started to understand that his bothersome behavior is actually waking me up. And, in turn, he's decided it's play time, or food time, and that he must have these things immediately.

To grab my attention more decisively, he began with loving nips to my brace-covered hands. If I don't respond to that, he proceeds to a full-on grab with his full strength and gnaws very painfully on any part of my hand he can sink his teeth into. After I tossed him off the bed several times for this unacceptable activity, he resorted to talking. Well, you know, in cat words. In the last two weeks he has been meowing loudly and repeatedly next to my ear. If I push him away, his next step is to irritate me. He jumps onto my bedside table, which always has my phone, an open cup of water, and various other things and starts maneuvering his hefty self around. This always gets my attention as I imagine the water spilling on my phone, my head, and any other number of unfortunate places.

When this all began, he was only hungry. I'd fill his food dish with his allotted portion and go back to bed. But he never truly left me alone. He'd come back later to thank me with all sorts of cuddling that I did not want.

Last week, he was not hungry. For three nights in a row, actually, he wanted company and someone to play with at 3:30a, not food. That was the last straw. I believe it came out from Kyle's lips something like this: "The cat isn't hungry. We can't let him control our lives. He's controlling our lives!"

And that's when we began contemplating our next move. What could be done to corral this cat who thinks he owns not only the space of our home, but also the lives of the humans who inhabit it. I'm becoming so sleep deprived that I'm grouchy and stupid pretty much constantly. I need more than 4-hour stints of sleep, and even on my own I can't always get that, let alone when Mr. Furball decides it's play-time.

A better effort?...I don't think it's possible.

Every time I think about blogging, my mind immediately goes blank. Why? I find this infinitely irritating. I used to be witty and have stories worth telling, and these days, for the last several years really, I have felt that there is nothing.

I mean, funny things are happening, like the practical joke that was played on me Tuesday night that involved a random pair of lost underwear hiding under a desk, and the unbelievable truth that we just bought child gates to keep the cat out of our bedroom at night. These are ridiculous things. I should have funny stories accompanying them that would make you laugh.

But the effort, the energy for the effort is totally, 85-95%, lacking. It's not even that I'm overworked. While my job has been insane since second semester began (Jan 31st), it has also provided some much-needed diversity with random outings on beautiful days to offices around campus and problem-solving that has stretched my mind and creativity. It's been fun, though nutty. It's not school-work either, as this semester is very low-key and low-intensity, and I am able to not stress about school for the first time since I started this crazy notion of a second Master's.

It could be that it's winter, the dead of winter actually, which is my least favorite and the most insufferable. I have to admit that I do suffer through the winter blues and am feeling awfully blue most of the time these days (except for those moments of hilarity or sweetness as provided by various members of my family and friends).

Sometimes I wonder if it isn't deeper, though. I'm entering month #7 of not being able to run. It's not just the lack of running either...it's exercise of any length, level of intensity, etc. I've been quasi-lethargic for seven months and it's reached the point of unbearability. I see students running outside now, during this warm front, and I'm so jealous it hurts. All I want to do is run. Just for 5 minutes. And then I get out of my car, or stand up from my desk, or roll out of bed and feel the pins, the twinges, and the stiffness in my lower half. And I know I cannot run now if I ever want to get better. Come on, body! Throw me a freaking bone here.

I'm tired. Tired because Quincy doesn't let me sleep more than 4 hours at a time (he simply loves too much), tired of not getting exercise and feeling those endorphins pumping through my veins, tired of wet and snow and dirty shoes tracking crap in the house, tired of stale air in buildings, tired of filthy cars that I hate to touch, tired of hurting and being forced to use it as an excuse to sit out from fun activities, tired of not being able to concentrate on things I want to because of the sheer amount of "required activities" (read stretches) by my physical therapist.

This post has turned almost bitter here toward the end. Sorry about that. It wasn't intentional, but now you see why I am not writing more, why I cannot write more. My brain settles back into this state, and no matter what, I don't want to share my "trials" with you because they are lame and I know it. They are minor.

I heard somewhere recently that if the whole world dumped their problems into one huge pile and we saw what everyone else was dealing with, we'd quickly grab ours back up and keep them. I think there is great truth in that. Last night, for instance, Kyle and I saw a PBS Frontline episode about human trafficking in eastern Europe. One young married woman was sold by a family acquaintance to a well-known brutal pimp in a different country who abused her so severely that she will never be able to have children again (she had already had one son, who was five). How is something like that even possible in this world? Does that not just ignite a fire in your gut for justice to find out these deplorable human beings who abuse their fellow men (and women)?

See, now my problems seem very small and insignificant.

All I wanted to do was bake some cookies. (This story is ridiculous.)

While most people can't say that a faucet malfunction in the kitchen could mar any sort of baking episode, of course in my house it would cause utter mayhem.

This day has been anything but a typical Saturday. I was done with my weekly grocery shopping by 9:30a, but had an extremely difficult time getting to and from the store on the slick and unplowed roads. By 10:30a, we were on our way down I-69 to a tiny town 15 miles away to meet some good friends for morning coffee. The trip turned out to be harrowing. The interstate had not been plowed worth anything. Only one of the two lanes were navigable and traffic was moving slowly because of the oftentimes 1/4 mile visibility. At one point, we skidded into the other lane to avoid the stopped lane(s) of traffic that we found over a hill and around a corner (with the shortest visibility, at that point, that we'd had). We made it to our coffee date and had a fantastic time catching up.

But when we left, 2 1/2 hours later, there was at least 5-6 inches of snow on the ground. Plows had been through once, probably, during our chat. I needed to do some research at a nearby mall, so we manned the country highways that direction, only to discover 6-inch deep mounds between the road lanes, and high piles between the wheels as well.

By the time we got home, we were exhausted and ready to eat some lunch (it was 3p) and bake some cookies for our Super Bowl get together tomorrow. However, the town roads of Upland had not been plowed at all. We got stuck in the street outside our driveway and had to finagle our way into the drive of the woman across the street just to turn around. See, we had intended to buy a shovel while in Muncie, but had forgotten. Our shovel busted in a billion pieces during the ice storm when Kyle was trying to dig our cars out after the blizzard on Wednesday. We managed to get the car through drift after drift to a local hardware store where he bought a ridiculously expensive metal shovel (harder to bust than the plastic we had before).

Parking in our neighbor's drive again, Kyle began shoveling while I went inside to get some food ready (it was nearing 4p and we still hadn't had lunch). In the next 1.5 hours that we took turns shoveling, scraping my car, eating, and such, a city plow did come through and plow our road, only to reveal an ice skating rink under the snow on the road. This is not an exaggeration. It looks like you're walking on frozen Lake Manitou, and it's just the street. (Kyle only wiped out once, and that was actually in the driveway on the 5-inch ice layer that separates our feet from the pavement.)

After resting and letting our minds wander for a bit, I decided to get into the cookies. Once we got them mixed up, the batter needed to chill for an hour, so we put it in the fridge and began cleaning up, etc. Here's where the evil kitchen faucet comes into play. But first, two items of necessary background information:

1) The lighting in the kitchen is so poor that I often bring our tall, plastic 3-way light around the corner from the living room so as to give more light. This evening was no exception from that. It was next to the doorway about 10 feet away from the sink.

2) Our kitchen sprayer has been malfunctioning off and on for months. I never know when this is going to happen.

Tonight, I was cleaning off a dish and the sprayer got stuck, as usual. By "got stuck" I mean it wouldn't shut off. No matter how much jiggling, twisting, increasing of the water pressure (which usually helps), the stupid thing just would not let up.

I called Kyle in to help, since he is handy with this sort of thing. As he attempted to increase the water pressure in the faucet, he lost control of the hose and water hit our faces, shirts, the ceiling, the opposite wall, the stove, the kitchen table; water was spraying everywhere. I had backed up to the kitchen door, confused, only to be startled by a loud *Pop! right next to me. There was a flash of light and the lamp that I'd brought in from the living room spewed light bulb chunks and shards into the air and then fizzled out. Glass rained down on me, on the table, on the floor, again everywhere. The cat about had a heart attack, at the same time I was having one, and Kyle spun around after turning off the water with a "What just happened?!"

All I wanted was to bake some cookies today. That's it. And instead, look at what the day did to me!

We had to lock the kitty in a back room and as I crawled on my hands and knees picking up glass pieces and drying off the sopping floor, Kyle followed in my wake with the vacuum cleaner. Thirty minutes later, we were exhausted and forgot about the cookies.

I'm ready for bed.

Colossal, Catastrophic Winter Storm

As much as I wanted a snow day today, it totally didn't happen. I did get out of my PT appointment at 8am, which was a blessing, but after 45 minutes of my car running and defrosting, I did have to go to work.

I'm still counting on tomorrow. A day at home would just be lovely.

I have, however, greatly enjoyed all of the adjectives that the Weather Channel has used to describe this storm. It has provided much entertainment. A few of the best phrases below:

"Historical blizzard and ice storm"

"Crippling ice storm"

"Potent winter storm"

"Multi-day, multi-state, damaging and destructive storm"

"Prolonged power outages"

"Hazardous or impossible travel and impassable roads"

"Amounts of over 20 inches of snow are not out of the realm of possibility"