emilyrems.com

I often wonder if animals have the same sense of time that we have, or if they recognize the weekends as those two days per week when the humans are lazier and more underfoot than usual. Last weekend, Xiola was a devil kitty on a mission, and that mission was to torment me, but her rebellion only lasted two days, Saturday and Sunday, and then it abruptly subsided. Over the course of those two days she was a holy terror—administering two long, bloody gashes to my calves as I slept, hiding behind the arm of the sofa and then leaping out, hissing, with claws bared every time I had the audacity to try and leave my bedroom, and generally being a rotten pet. In the face of this unprovoked insurgency, I chased her around the apartment with a full sports bottle of water in a vain attempt to douse her into submission. Maybe it worked eventually. Or maybe it was just her freaky kitty circadian rhythms that had her purring in my lap once Monday rolled around. But now it’s Friday, and though I’m hoping for the best, I’m still girding for battle. Be warned cat. You better straighten up and fly right or it’s gonna be another wet ‘n’ wild weekend.