Nighttime. Darkness has fallen; the hour is late. The bed and pillow beckon with a promise of blissful dreams. But first, a little roll-on to ease the soreness of an aching back from a long day. As the soothing menthol heats deep into muscle, sleep wins as I drift off into a welcome unconsciousness….
BAM! I am suddenly jolted out of my quiet slumber by an attacking Pizzly Bear! Half Grizzly, half Polar Bear. Ferocious…Determined…All claws fur and teeth! I’m certain that I’m about to be eaten alive by this huge menacing beast! This denizen of darkness that lurked in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment, when I was at my most vulnerable to POUNCE! This fuzzy…meowing…wait a minute…we don’t have bears, here…PASTEL!!! (Okay, to be fair, she is pushing fourteen pounds, so you can see where she could be easily confused with a bear, especially when she lands on you, full force, in the middle of the night.)
What I had forgotten is that Pastel loves the smell of menthol. Oddly, it’s not that uncommon for cats to love the smell of menthol. But when I say Pastel loves the smell of menthol, I mean it’s like catnip laced with crack to her. She LOVES the smell of menthol. L.O.V.E.S. it. Forget everything else, follow it to the end of the earth, LOVES it. She was trying to lick it off my back through my nightshirt. My efforts to push her away were only making her more determined, so I threw sheets and blankets over me, even though the evening was warm. Not to be deterred, she started clawing at the covers. I put my hand behind my back to block her, only to have her shove her face in the palm of my hand. When my hand wouldn’t move out of her way, she bit me. (Hence her nickname “the Landshark.”)
“HEY! That’s a good way to get you banned from the bed AND the bedroom!” I yelled, shaking my hand in pain.
She didn’t care. She hadn’t even broken the skin. She never does. She knows just how hard to bite without causing permanent damage. Sometimes I swear the kitty is cray-cray.
And so it went for a good portion of the night. Her, trying everything in her arsenal to get at my back and the menthol that was on it. Me, doing everything I could to keep her away from my back to let the soothing vapors relax the sore muscles.
In the morning, as I was getting ready for work, I thought the struggles of the night before were over. Finally.
Nope.
I had my nightshirt hung on a doorknob in the bathroom. In came Pastel. She saw that nightshirt, made a beeline for it, and immediately started licking it. I spun around, grabbed the shirt off the doorknob, and lifted it up to hang it higher out of her reach. She latched onto it with her front claws. As I lifted the shirt, the cat came with it. There she was, meowing in protest, hanging from the shirt, hind feet off the floor. Finally, she retracted her claws and let go of the shirt, and I was able to hang it out of her reach. She meowed again in disgust, but I wasn’t about to give it back.
Because honestly, who wants to sleep in a nightshirt covered in cat spit?