Sometimes My Cats Are Jerks

A consequence of having three floors to inhabit is that it really promotes cat sabotage. Of each other, I mean, the cats. Hence, I am frequently startled in the middle of the night by muffled rumbling, bumping, scrambling and occasionally crashing sounds. My sleep has been poor as of late, so I really wish they they would stop doing this. It does, however, afford me the opportunity to refer to them, directly, as jerks. Sometimes assholes. The reason I like doing this is that it automatically defuses the anger I might've had going on at them, because there's just something funny about calling your cat a jerk. Is it really possible for a cat to be a jerk? You say it to them, and it just falls flat, nothing at all in their demeanor changes. I mean, by the time you're saying it, the damage has usually been done, as was the case last night when my own anxiety over the noises I was hearing forced me out of an almost slumber and back to too much awareness of the rate of my heart, etcetera. I also noticed that being naked when hearing loud noises is unhelpful. In any case, I found my robe and slippers and descended all the way to the basement, not having seen either cat on the ground floor. Got down there, still no cats. There was a small hinged window that was moving in the breeze, I had left it unhinged the other day. I secured it. Back upstairs, still no cats. Up to my bedroom and then back to the ground floor, there they are, the jerks, sitting in the middle of the kitchen. The cutest fuzziest wuzziest furriest black and white and orange-est little jerks in the world.