Now I know: I’ll never be eaten by my cats

Tig was at the vet’s overnight on Thursday for, let’s just say, digestive issues. So when he came back to me he was a bit bedraggled and sleepy and not himself, and because of his digestive issues, there was no way I was letting him in my room, especially because he seemed to be trying to gas me out of the house last night. Since he otherwise has free rein in the entire house, this distressed him enough that at 5:47 this morning, he was yowling to be let into my room. And again around 7. And again when I finally got out of bed sometime after 8.

I have come to the conclusion that if, God forbid, I die alone and unnoticed for a few days, that Tig won’t eat me. He’ll just yowl at me to wake up and pay attention to him every few hours.

There seems to be no continuing stinkbomb issue (there’s a reason I call him my little pooper), so I believe he may be allowed back into my room tonight. Where he will wake me up by sleeping on my feet or yowling in my ear when he’s decided I’ve slept long enough.

I don’t care. It was so quiet without Tig running back and forth across the hallway, making his row-rowr sounds while I brush my teeth. There was no running up and down the stairs, and no Tig hugs in the middle of the workday because he woke up from a nap and wanted a hug.

Here’s my goofball in a typical goofball sleep pose.