Cat Trolling

    You know how some days you wake up and say, "Fuck, it's morning again!" and then you go about your day feeling like jumping off a cliff would be vastly preferable to whatever you're currently doing? That's me, every day. Whether it's because I don't get enough sleep - a problem I've been trying to remedy - or because I feel like the majority of my day is wasted going through the motions so I can get that damned piece of paper and be done with high school forever, every day (except Friday, Saturday, and Sunday) basically just pisses me off, right up until to moment where, for the eighth time that day, I say, "I don't want to be here," and realize that I'm on my bike and I'm already halfway home.
    Normally, I come home to a house filled with two people, two cats, and three fish in one fish tank. Mom feeds me, as per tradition,  and I dominate a computer in short order. Often at this point, I will grow gradually drowsier until I decide that I need to give up the ghost and go take a nap. This has varied results, most of them being me feeling like crap because I took a nap, and then my night proceeds in a relatively uneventful manner.
    Sometimes, however, I come home to a house that is short two people. So I have to feed myself, which always results in me using the microwave. The microwave and I generally do not agree on how food should taste.  Now, I'm not saying that this is what makes me troll my cat, but I doubt it improves her chances of going un-trolled.
    Usually my trolling stops at tickling her feet, an offense that is rewarded with scratches, bite marks, and a pissed off cat. Maybe, if she's being obnoxious, I'll put her outside and walk away as she panics and dances around on the door trying to convince some poor soul to let her in. I might even go so far as to scratch hers ears in just the right way so as to make them itchy, which causes her to scratch them or shake her head repeatedly. Today, I was worse.
    So, I come home from school, hating my life because it's only Tuesday - fucking Tuesday, man - and I see that Moose (the 2998 Mercury we bought so I could learn to drive) is not in the driveway. This, of course, tells me that, for the time being, I'm going to be the only English speaker in the house - the cats speak Catonese, and the fish speak Blubblubberman. I'm unsurprised to find the door locked, and as I'm digging my key - yes, I have exactly one - out, Merlin comes up and starts being all adorable and lovable and stuff. This is completely out of character for him, as far as I'm concerned, but instead of asking him why he's acting weird, I take advantage of the opportunity like Goldman Sach's takes money from the government.

Merlin being adorable.

    I finally tear myself away from the ultimate cuteness that is Merlin when he's being nice, and go inside. I completely ignore the fish - because, seriously, they're not even interesting - and I go for the kitchen, where I hope to find easily prepared foodstuffs. I get halfway through microwave my edibles, when I hear this noise near the sliding glass door.
    Looking over, I see Squeaker, who is, of course, sitting in front of the door in a way that says, "Let me out, you dumb broad," without actually intending to go out, at all. She does this often enough, and I tend to ignore her most days. But today, I'm still bummed because it's fucking Tuesday, man. So, instead of moving on, I walk over to her and catch her and throw her outside. As per usual, she starts yowling, as though she wasn't just sitting in front of the door telling me to do exactly this. I stand back and have a laugh, but instead of walking away, I open the door about an inch. Her yowls are louder, being that the double-paned glass between us is no longer muffling her voice, and she paws at the door. So I move the door open about an inch more.
    This is when she starts to get pissed, because she knows I'm doing this for the sheer joy of being an ass to something. Her ears swivel around in a clear indication of, "I'm going to claw your face off tonight," and I get the feeling that I should lock her out of my room for the next week or so, a feeling I will no doubt ignore. Instead of quitting while I'm ahead, I open the door a bit further, just enough for her to almost, almost get through. She can shove her head through just fine, it's the rest of her - namely her fat ass - that has issues. Squeaky backs off and gives me a glare that promises violence, but I'm immune to that for the time being, and I just stand there laughing at her because, really, I'm a horrible person, and I find her distress so amusing sometimes.
    For all that she's neurotic, she's not a dumb cat, however, and she eventually realizes that this door moves and if she just pushes hard enough it'll totally give way to let her inside. So I'm treated to a few seconds of watching her do this, before it's back to boring old every day life and the time of napping, that inescapable period of two to four hours where sleep tries (and succeeds, most of the time) to ruin my night by first wasting several hours of my time and then making me feel ill after doing so. But still, at least I'll know I've done something to further neuroticize* that cat. If I keep going, she might start to generate an electrical charge - I could power the house off of her. Talk about environmentally friendly.

*Not a word, you say? It is now.