Cruz has developed a nasty habit of wanting to be let outside at inconvenient times.

Ever since we brought Scout home, Cruz has turned himself into a really loud cat.  Whereas before, when our family was a humble trio, and he got all the attention he could have ever wanted, he rarely made a sound other than purring.  We had a very specific in-and-out system, and he was trained to know when he could go out and come in, and he never had to ask for anything.  Zack swears that the reason he’s turned into such a loud feline is because of the dog.  I’m not convinced that it’s just the dog–it could just as easily be a combination of the thirty some-odd changes in our lives that happened around the same time: moving from an entirely rural setting to a highly urban one, a change from a bafflingly consistent schedule to one that changes on a monthly basis, little house to big house, etc.

Regardless of the reason, the point is this: He is a loud cat now.  A loud cat that often likes to stand outside our bedroom door at 4 a.m. and say, MEEOW.  GROOOOAN. WHINE, WHINE, WHINE. YOU GUYS SUCK. OUTSIDE, PLEASE? MEEEEOOOOOOOOW.  Because I’m a kind owner, and because I didn’t have a litter box in the house when he started this nasty habit of his, I would get up and let him outside.  I didn’t imagine for a minute that I was training him to come meow at me any time he wanted to be let outside.  The idea of “Training Cats” is mostly laughable anyway, because come on! Who claims to be able to train cats?! I really didn’t think that he was going to make a habit out of the midnight moaning.  But I thought wrong.

Starting yesterday, I officially began The Plan To Un-train Cruz From Being A Owner Waking Up Ass Hat.  He was pitching a fit outside my door at about 4:15, and I met him in my doorway, armed with a pillow and the pillow-fighting fury of 10,000 teenage girls.  With one swift underhand, I connected with that cat’s hind quarters and sent him skidding down the hallway, and then sprinting down the stairs.  He didn’t bother me again, and then when I got up a couple of hours later, he quietly followed me to the front door, where I let him out.  SWEET VICTORY, I thought!  I’ve whooped him!  He’ll never whine outside my door again!  We’ve re-established dominance!

Perhaps I was a wee bit ahead of myself in claiming ‘victory’.  This morning he was at it again, but a little earlier.  3:45.  MEEEEOOW. OUTSIDE! I WANT OUTSIDE YOU WRECHED WOMAN! I HATE YOU. COME OPEN THE DOOR FOR ME. ppppllleeeeease? MEOW!  I’ll count my wins where I can get them, though, because when I opened my bedroom door with a pillow in hand, he preemptively shot down the hallway, and down the stairs, and didn’t make a peep for the rest of the evening.  Maybe, just maybe, cat training is possible after all.