When I got my cat, I had this ideal picture in my mind, of a nice cuddly animal, that likes you, behaves well, and brings relaxation for those short after-work hours.
And mostly the picture did match the reality. But only mostly.
One of the first mismatches was the sound. I chose a shorthair hoping that it’d be a quiet cat. Horror stories of “siamese chatterboxes” were orderly served by my memory (along with stories of cats sitting on the hat racks in the corridor and peeing on the guests, or running up the walls or curtains), so I decided to play it safe.
The first night was probably the most scary. I decided not to let the cat sleep in my bed (he still doesn’t, that’s what he has pillows and cat condo for), and went to bed late. In the middle of the night I woke up to a classical horror scene. “Ooooheeowwwwwhr” moaned something in the corridor, then hit the door, after which in dimmed light I saw some dark tentacle sneak under the door and make a few groping motions on the carpet then thrash up and down a few times.
Despite severely reduced by the fact of being woken up at an ungodly hour IQ, thoughts of little Cthulhu were brushed aside as illogical and improbable. Texarkana has the werewolf myths, so geographically idea of a were-puppy was out too. Austin has nothing mythical, just coyotes and maybe a cougar or two (of the animal kind).
Only then I’ve realized that now I have the cat.
That was that.
Since then cat, thankfully, was avoiding the repeat of the Night of the Horror Sounds. Though when I sneeze a couple times (everyone in Austin has one or the other kind of an allergy) cat does try to scare the allergy away by singing a short serenade in about 2 octaves (“Meee-ooowwfl” with end of the sound going into bass). Plus a few uses of water-spray-gun in the morning taught it a lesson about screaming early for no apparent reason.
Cats can be trained after all…