Rubbing along!

Here we are in a new year (new decade?) and Austin and I have had our little disagreements, but we are working through them with some help.  We fought the battle over where he should spend the night and eventually I won, but not without a few sleepless nights and arguments in the hallway. 

I would be more than happy to allow him to sleep on my bed (it's plenty big enough), but his nighttime habits are rather exhausting.  It would be ok if he slept the night away on his side of the bed, but (so like a man) he wants my bit as well!  And then there is this staring thing he does when he thinks I might be dead when I haven't moved for a nanosecond.  It's rather disconcerting to awake to a pair of green laser eyes pinning one to the bed, not to mention the odd poke in a facial orifice with a sharpened claw. 

So we tried letting him have the run of the house with the bedroom doors shut, but this led to rather furtive and fraught trips to the loo at 3 a.m. when leg crossing was no longer an option. It didn't matter how quiet I was, or how muted my oaths were when I stubbed my toe on the door because I couldn't turn the light on; there he was tucked up nice and warm under the duvet when I stumbled back into bed.  Purring very loudly with an oh so innocent aren't-I-gorgeous-how-can-you-resist expression as he rolls over onto his back and stretches out for a tickle and a scrunge.  What can I do but allow him his moment of glory before I drop kick him with my throbbing foot out into the hall. 

Anyway, eventually he and I had a little chat which involved full and frank exchanges (overseen by the arbitration service) and he eventually saw sense and conceded on the issue of sleeping arrangements.  However, there have been repercussions!  I have said before that Austin is not the brightest star in the firmament, but he has twigged that I'm not a morning person.  Now he's playing on that slight weakness in my character for all it's worth.  Ok I admit I'm not the one who generally lets him out in the morning, but he manages to either streak downstairs and hurl himself at my door, or, if he's unceremoniously tipped outside, he rushes around the side and jumps on my window sill and yowls at about 90 decibels.  He's louder and more efficient than any alarm.   I think he has an "oedipuss" complex! It must be his age. 

It's got to the point now where it's a bit unnerving as he follows me about everywhere.  But as (being a mere human) I don't follow an established route in the house or garden - especially if I'm doing chores or cooking - he's worn out and confused very quickly by my seemingly aimless wandering from kitchen drawer to living room cupboard, to drawer, to fridge, to sink, to cupboard, that now places himself in the middle of the landing at the top of the stairs, so he can watch, from his vantage point, my every move.  He then pretends to doze unconcernedly as I go about my business, but every now and then I catch a glimpse of one beady eye, watching ...... just watching!