Postmortem predation.

Lizzie is my cat. She is fat and very pretty, mostly white with dark gray spots, and her nose looks like a little gray heart. She lays on her back with all paws in the air just like a dog. She likes to sit by recently-worn shoes. It's a little weird. She has a trilling meow; our friend says she must be Castilian because she really rolls her R's. She's just the most adorable thing. Usually.

Isn't she adorable?

An ex-boyfriend's sister once gave me a magnet for my fridge with a picture of a cat licking its chops and the phrase, "There is no snooze on a cat who wants breakfast." Too true. Lizzie is served her meals at 7a.m. and 7p.m. To make sure we don't oversleep and miss her breakfast time, it is often her pleasure to jump on the bed and walk on the pillows, stand on my hair, all the while loudly meowing and poking me in the face with her sharp little claw. This can begin as early at 5:45. On a workday, it's tolerable. It's most likely to occur on Saturday, though, and then it makes you want to scream in desperation. And knock her off the bed. (She always jumps right back up. She knows exactly what she's doing--being bad.)

We put up with it because we love her. How can you not love something that would eat you nearly as soon as you died? Don't believe me? Check this out: http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read/1922/will-cats-eat-their-owners.

My husband and I are convinced that when she seems her sweetest--giving us little cat kisses by licking our hands or the tips of our noses--that she's actually just sizing us up, trying to decide who would be the appetizer and who would be the main course if we both kicked the bucket at home one day. Cats aren't like a dog who would loyally stay by your body for many, many days, until you were finally found. Nope, cats are cold. Practical. Rather like assassins (who only get to kill spiders in the bathroom). 

And yet, I wouldn't give her up for anything. When she got terribly ill once, I surprised even myself with my readiness to pull multiple hundreds of dollars from savings for a vet bill. And even though she often tries to attack our feet under the covers (usually sinking a claw in the foot around, oh, 2:30a.m.), she also curls up next to my pillow, or between Patrick and me, to be near us at night. And she follows us from room to room during the day. It's sweet that she just likes to be near by...

Feed me, Seymour! (Not actually Lizzie, but close, right?)

...In case we croak and dinner comes early.