That’s Kako‘s attitude.  She loves jumping onto my back and playing, sleeping, sitting, and soaking up as much attention as she can get.  Unfortunately, she’s quite demanding when she thinks it’s time to get on my back.  She normally gets there from three different places: the top of the refrigerator, the floor, and the top of any piece of cat furniture tall enough to provide easy access.

I’m usually aware of what she’s doing when she does it.  Nevertheless, she takes me by surprise every now and again.  For example, I keep a pitcher of water on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.  I drink a lot of water, so you can imagine how often I’m leaning over to grab that pitcher.  Well, Ms. Thing understands this is a perfect time to surprise Daddy with a sudden claw-supported pounce from atop the appliance.  But she doesn’t have to be up there when I go digging in the fridge.  She’ll sometimes come running from elsewhere and make a mad dash from the kitchen floor to the counter to the top of the refrigerator to my back, and it all occurs in about one second.  There’s little I can do since I can’t get out of the way fast enough.

But it’s when she tries to get up there from the floor that we experience the most trouble.  The reason for this is simple: She can’t always determine when I’m bent over far enough to provide sufficient space to land.  Her attempts usually coincide with me being busy (picking up cat toys in preparation to vacuum, cleaning cat boxes, etc.).  I’m in pretty constant motion and am not always paying attention to what she’s trying to do.  Usually when I’m standing only partially upright, she makes her move and I end up looking like a silly actor in some cheap movie in which alien cats are attaching themselves to the backs of people as part of some bizarre invasion plot.  I stand there trying my best not to scream in agony while she tries to climb up from her landing spot.  The only thing I can do is lean over to stabilize her.  That’s the safest thing for me anyway.

What’s funny is that she gets mad if she misses.  It’s then I can expect things to get ugly.  If she can’t get on my back when she wants to, she’ll smack me around a bit and fuss at me as though I’m being terribly selfish.  I can’t tell you how often I’ve received fresh racing stripes on my back from a failed attempt, and then I received more racing stripes when she took out her frustration on me afterward.  As is almost always the case, she wins the argument.  And what do I get in return?  Some genuine loving and purring and a bit of play, none of which lasts more than a minute or two, and then she’s done with me and wants down posthaste.  I’m left with painful reminders of who’s in charge and she’s left with her back-time need satiated for yet another day (or at least a few hours).