Open Salon, meet Dylan. Here's a picture of Dylan at his most recent 3,000-nap checkup.
Dyl is fifteen, and an avowed snuggle-holic. I adopted Dylan in April when he moved from NYC back to Atlanta, where he was born. (His human mom, in NYC, moved in with a roommate who had a dog. Dylan was not amused.) Now he's back in Atlanta, where his sister Flame has lived for years, a block away.
Here in the ATL, Dylan has assumed his accustomed position as king-of-the-mountain. Sleep / eat / outdoors / indoors / brush and snuggle daily. Repeat as needed.
Here's the Hitchcock-movie twist: whenever he sees me, he just won't STFU. Daily yowling, screeching, meowing, even "mrrrrping" softly (think Kliban's cat Burton Rustle: "mrrrrp?"). He knows he's getting my attention because he acts rather smug afterwards.
I've owned many, many cats in my 60 years but Dylan is the first endless screecher I've encountered.
Yep, I know, he's got me wrapped around his paw. But it's as if he needs constant attention and yowling if I am not staring directly into his eyes, 24/7. Right now he's yowling in the kitchen. (It's 8:40 a.m.) Sometimes he sits and looks at me while sounding like I'm beating him unmercifully. And ... then ... there's nighttime.
Dylan spends much of my bedtime-to-six a.m. on endless perimeter marches, yowling, window-hopping, checking my breathing, sitting in the kitchen and screaming. His litter-box is clean, food and water is plenty.
This circular performance goes on, night in, night out. When I close the bedroom door he yowls to get in; when he's in the bedroom and the door is closed he screeches to get out.
Then he's sitting in the kitchen, meowing unceasingly for hours at 3 am, 4 am, 5 am ... The only time I get a break is when he's sleeping (exhausted?) or outside. I live on a busy street and keep an eye on him outside during the day. I don't want to leave him out at night (I think he'd just game me even more with his in-out-in routine anyway.)
I am lucky my apartment next-door neighbor is a night-time / cat person, with her own shy 13-year old tux cat, Lightning. I'm beginning to think Dylan is showing off for Lightning: "hear me roar." Debra says she doesn't hear Dylan's nighttime performances, but I'm not getting much sleep myself.
Both cats are spayed / neutered (sorry, Tink, TMI). But -- of course -- when Debra arranged for Lightning and Dylan to meet, Dylan was unimpressed and Lightning hissed and hid, as if she was Miss Havisham in Great Expectations.
Dylan: Are you lonely? Bored? An attention-sponge? An opera-singer-in-training? Are you overly worried about the impending budget default? Whatever it is, we (and Obama and Boehner) can work it out together. Just, please, hush yer mush.
Tink (and for others who are "pwned" by their cats, your thoughts): What ... do .... you ... want?!?