Can Someone Tell Me How to Shut Off This 3:45 a.m. Alarm?

Paddy knows where to sit, so I can’t hit him with the squirt bottle.

Our seven-year-old orange tabby boy is the orneriest cat I’ve ever owned. He was not the loving replacement I’d hoped to find when my precious Peaches disappeared from our Hollister home seven years ago. She didn’t wake me up until 6:00 a.m. and did it with loving nudges. Paddy starts screaming at me, sometimes as early as 1:45. I want to choke him. I’ll be wide awake if I get out of bed to squirt him with the water bottle. I keep telling myself that he will stop soon if I ignore him.

He’ll usually quit if it’s before 3:45, but after that, it’s full-on caterwauling until I give up and get up. I refuse to get out of bed before 4:00, so I lay there shaking the squirt bottle threateningly or squeezing my plastic water bottle next to my bed. He runs from the room but continues to let me know he wants his breakfast. We live in a 45-foot motorhome, so the other room is no more than six feet from his spot on the floor at the bottom of our bed. It’s a place he knows my squirt bottle won’t reach.

At 4:00, I reluctantly pull myself out from under the covers. After brushing my teeth, the first thing I do is give Paddy his breakfast helping of Sheba wet food. The only exception is when my bladder demands that I pee first. His displeasure at not being my first priority is made loud and clear when that happens!

After he’s eaten half of his breakfast, he jumps in my lap on my recliner for his morning ration of six Temptation treats. I swear this cat can count. If I only give him five, he sits and stares at me. When he eats the sixth one, he immediately jumps off my lap and heads to his bowl to finish his breakfast.

Once he’s finished with it, he heads to his toy. I’ve replaced this spinning feather contraption three times. Without it, Paddy makes our lives miserable. I’ve usually got a backup one stowed away to be on the safe side. It has a twenty-minute timer, and as long as it’s spinning around and smacking him in the face, he’s happy.

I throw on my earbuds and tune into a message by my favorite pastor, Allen Jackson, on YouTube. It isn’t long before I fall back to sleep. Often before the twenty minutes have passed. Once his feather stops spinning, Paddy starts complaining in a loud voice. I don’t want him to wake my husband, so I dutifully get up from my recliner and hit the start button again. I’ve been known to hit it four times, with short naps in between. On a good morning, he’ll crawl onto my passenger seat after one session and go to sleep, giving me an hour or so of much-needed slumber.

I’m sharing this story in hopes of commiseration from fellow cat lovers or an idea of how to change his behavior. My husband has already advised me, “Just ignore him.” We all know that doesn’t work. Neither does “Don’t give him his treats.” I’m an enabler, I know. But I can’t help spoiling my boy.

I’d love to hear if you have a story to share that will make me feel better about my situation. As they say, “Misery loves company.”