Train your pet in three easy steps, guaranteed

My alarm goes off at 4:30 a.m. At 4:31, the game begins.

El Gato Diablo Numero Uno, more commonly referred to as Nik (as in Syracuse's Nik and the Nice Guys, for you fans out there) is now well past 12 years old, yet he pounds down the stairs with a force belying his eight-and-one-quarter-ounce stature. Soon he will be up to his winter weight, a full 10 pounds. I bolt out of bed before the most annoying sound in the world can start and head for his food dish. It’s hard for a non-morning person to implement strategy at that hour.

As he eats, I brush my teeth slowly, hoping he will be sated before I close the door to shower. He’s still eating. I brush each individual tooth. Still, he eats. I give up in exasperation and shut the door. He now is stuck in the bathroom with me.

As soon as I step into the shower and get soap in my eyes, he is at the door. A small “Me” escapes his mouth. I think his ability to meow was impaired by our jumping to meet his every demand when he was very young. That ‘Me’ puts me on edge. I know what is coming.

Nik: Me.

Me: Yes, I know, it’s all about you. (I have not yet lost my good humor.)

Nik: Me.

Me: Hang on, I’ll just be another minute.

Nik: Me!

Me: I’m coming!

Nik: Mee!

Me: I KNOW.

Nik: MEE! MEE!

Me: Aaarrrgggghhhh…shut up already, I told you I’m rinsing as fast as I can!

Nik: MEE! MEE! MEE! MEE! MEE! (To infinity, his cries changing from ‘woe is me’ cat-titude to ‘and I mean now, dammit!’ as I towel off.)

I open the door and out he shoots like the Devil himself is on his tail. Unfortunately, all his screeching has awakened the princess, El Gato Diablo Blanco, who is positioned in full pounce position outside the bathroom door.

She springs into action as Nik flies by. He looks at her and she thinks better of it mid-flight, then turns to head for the food dish.

“Meeeeeee!” is at the front door.

“I am not going out there dripping wet to freeze to death. You can wait!” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“MEEEEEEEE!”

He wants me to know he can’t wait because he’s got to go NOW. He is too dignified to use a cat box, and his cries threaten to wake not only the whole house, but also the dead. My feet go into shock when they hit the concrete floor of the mudroom, and he is purring and dancing with urgency. The chilly morning air stings every millimeter of wet, exposed skin, but I stand long enough to confirm what I already know. He bolts out the door, gets to the end of the front walk and sits down. He takes a leisurely sniff at the air and looks around, king of all he surveys.

Cold and prickly, mostly because he’s won again, I wonder where the coyotes are when you could use one.

Maybe I’ll ask for a slingshot for Christmas and do some training of my own.

Reprinted courtesy Eagle Newspapers, Syracuse, New York.