My cat attacked me this morning. Jumped on the bed while I was asleep, pounced me, stabbed me with his long, needle-sharp claws, and bit my derriere. I wasn’t doing anything to him. I wasn’t even moving, other than to breathe. But I was attacked anyway. And when I brushed him away, he attacked again!
T’s a strange cat. He was a stray or possibly even a feral cat. I couldn’t get within about 10-20 feet of him for about a month after he started hanging out under my front deck. I put out cat food, sat totally relaxed and quietly talking to him, blinked at him, fed him more, petted my own very old cat in front of him… finally one night I touched him. It was a tentative moment for both of us. He, afraid I might trap or hit him; me, afraid he might bite me.
The last year has been a learning experience for both T and I. T learned that inside wasn’t too bad if outside meant snow, rain, or excessive heat. I learned not to let that streak of fur with whiskers stay inside too long without covering all the furniture with heavy burlap and running him crazy with a laser light every few hours. T learned not to fall in a bathtub full of water. He learned the back of a toilet can be a slippery place for a nosy cat. I learned not to leave anything sitting out that could easily be knocked onto the floor or into the sink (and down the drain) by a quick kitty paw.
But over time we’ve learned. I thought things were going well. T likes to rub against me now. He sticks close when we go outside. He meows at me regularly and has even begun to purr. He enjoys belly and chin rubs, and sleeps at my feet at night. I thought things were going well, until he bit my butt.
Being woken from sleep by a set of sharp cat teeth stabbing your backside is NOT a pleasant awakening, and I’ll admit my first thought was to give him an unpleasant wake up call in return. I didn’t, though later I did pounce him back playfully, to run off a little of his energy and let him know I was still bigger. I don’t want anymore nips in the middle of the night.