Have you ever have a cat that?s in heat more than it?s actually awake?

This thing isn?t walking.

It?s parading.

Ass in the air.

Tail flipped to the side like it?s throwing gang signs.

Meowing like it just discovered its voice and wants the whole neighbourhood to know about it.

This cat is squatting in front of you like

Hey.

You look capable.

Lady, I can?t even find my socks in the morning.

What the fuck do you want from me.

Instead, I?m tripping over her every five seconds, almost breaking my goddamn neck while she?s shoving her ass in my face like I?m supposed to inspect it.

Then the lights go out.

That?s when the real show starts.

This friggin thing starts patrolling the house.

Every room.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Rooms she already searched forty seven times for a boyfriend.

Meowing like she?s got a two-by-four shoved up her ass.

Just wandering around crying and rubbing against furniture like it owes her money.

Three hours later, I?m tossing and turning like a two-year-old that can?t get comfortable.

Head under the pillow.

Punching the side of the bed like that?s gonna help.

This cat is making more noise than fifteen kids in a daycare center hopped up on sugar.

I just want some fuckin sleep.

So I hit the hallway at about a hundred and three miles an hour wearing nothing but my underwear.

Pillows flying.

Blankets everywhere.

Stub my toe on the door jam.

Bounce off the wall.

Fall into the hallway, sounding like a goddamn elephant trapped in a small box.

Bare skin screeching across the carpet.

Thump.

Bang.

Crash.

If I get my hands on this cat, I?m gonna strangle her with pure exhaustion.

Then, in the moonlight shining through the window

I see her.

Trying to get traction on the laminate floor like a cartoon character.

Legs spinning.

Ass still in the air.

She knows.

Oh, she fuckin knows.

She sees the look in my eyes and realizes this is not the night.

She disappears.

Silence.

I crawl back into bed.

Heart pounding.

Sweating.

Finally, start drifting off.

And the second my head hits the pillow

MEOWWWWW.

Repeat the entire goddamn process three or four times a night.

By the fourth round, I?m so exhausted I pass out the second my eyes close and pray I don?t wake up to her trying to mount the toaster.

Cats in heat don?t want love.

They want chaos.

And sleep deprivation.

?????????????...and that's callin' it like it is!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Canadian artist & digital troublemaker Colin John Cook shares his louder-than-life, awkward, and honest-as-hell stories. Packed with humour, real talk & creative insights in a no filter, digital comedy space that laughs at life & calls it like it is. He is also the Founder and President of

The Hidden Gallery - Art Studio & Micro Theatre

??