Sleeping with the Monster-Cat

For the last week or so, I've been cat-sitting for some friends of mine. I've hung out at the house often enough, and so I was fairly well-acquainted with Emmerson the Giant, a cat larger than most dogs I know*. I can't remember exactly what breed of cat Emmerson is, but I believe it's a cousin to the Raccuma, a cross between a raccoon and a puma; of course, he's inherited the feral instincts of neither of these wild ancestral creatures. His behaviour most often resembles that of a large space-foam pillow, and I would use him as one on a more regular basis if it weren't for the fact that his fur behaves more like spider-web than any hair I've ever seen. What I'm trying to say here is that this cat is huge and weird. But taking care of a gigantic space-foam pillow cat covered in spiderweb hair, while strange, doesn't actually sound that hard. And it isn't, as long as you don't try to sleep in the house.



I have cats. I know that cats can be a pain in the ass when you're trying to sleep, mostly because they either a) have no intention of letting you sleep, or b) have every intention of sleeping in the exact same spot that you have chosen for the night. Emmerson takes this behaviour to a fascinating extreme. The first night I stayed over, Emmerson decided to play it cool, and I didn't even realize that we were sharing the bed until I woke up the next morning and he was spooning with me. He was being the big spoon, too.

Initially, I was excited by the prospect of having a cat who had adapted so well to human sleeping conditions that he had actually begun mimicking the sleeping arrangements of human couples. I assumed that it would be like this for the rest of my stay. I was wrong.

At 4am the next morning, I woke up to find Emmerson in the midst of settling down on my pillow with his legs wrapped around my head. This would not do, so I shoved him to one side. He accepted my rebuttal with grace, and curled up to sleep three inches from my face with his tail up my nose. Being a polite cat-sitter, I simply rolled over, thinking that Emmerson just wanted to share my pillow with me. Within minutes, Emmerson had crawled over my sleepy form and had settled himself again on my pillow with his tail up my nose.

Trying to be diplomatic about the situation, I grabbed another pillow from the Pillow Pile***, set it right beside mine, and rolled Emmerson onto it. He immediately expanded to cover the entire pillow, with his front legs sticking off one side and his butt and tail protruding a good 2 inches over the other, which allowed Emmerson to stick his tail in my ear this time.

This time, I retaliated in a way that Emmerson would understand, and attempted to shove him forcefully off the bed. Shocked by this sudden turn of events, Emmerson dug all 5 of his claws into my forearm, so then I had to grab him by the paw and hold him in place long enough to extract the claws from my arm, whisper "Long live the King" and let him slide the final half-inch to the floor.

Satisfied by my combined cat-evasion and 4am Disney-movie reference, I once again settled down to sleep. Emmerson disappeared for three minutes and returned with reinforcements in the form of Loki, who generally only comes near me when it's time for dinner or for me to pluck the quarter-sized balls of matted fur from her chin. Apparently, Emmerson had convinced Loki that it was breakfast time. But that's another story for another time.

A comparison: Me with Emmerson vs Me with Loki

*This is actually true; most of the dogs I know can fit in a handbag**.
**not that any of them are well-trained enough to stay there.
***There are at least 6 pillows in this bed. I don't understand it.