The cat's in the cradle

I am convinced that the cat is trying to kill me. I am not sure how, but I am pretty sure the door hinges are in on this somehow. I write this blog under duress and just in in case, so when I am found, my dead, lifeless body hardening under rigor mortis (or stickamortis - as my sister calls it -because you become as stiff as a stick I guess) you will know the cause of death: exhaustion. Through my power of deduction I believe I have almost cracked her evil scheme.

You see, each time the baby is about to go to sleep, the cat will will start yowling. It doesn't matter what I do! The cat could be fed, watered and locked in a closet but somehow as soon as the baby's breathing evens, and his eyes start to close and the whining (dear god the whining!) ceases, I hear it. Quiet at first, but then, louder, more insistent. "Meow? MEOW!?!" The baby's eyes fly open and sleep is off the table. The first time, it was a coincidence. The second time it was annoying. The 54th time, it was time to figure out how I could kill the cat, and make it look like an accident.

The meowing alone is not enough to convict the kitty of Sleep Depravation in the 3rd Degree though. And eventually such tactics stopped working like they once did. So, the cat escalated her attempts. Now, as soon as the baby has drifted off and is laying sound asleep in the crib, the cat starts tearing around the upstairs - claws out - to insure maximum volume when the carpet rips underneath her. This has cut nap-time from two hours to about 20 minutes, most of which is spent putting the baby down, picking the baby up, putting him down, returning to find him sitting up, putting him down again, etc.

One guaranteed way of making the baby wake up? Make food. Or coffee. It doesn't matter, the baby hates it when I do either one. I would nap with the kid, but I can't run to my bedroom and fall asleep fast enough to do so.