One of our cats has a habit of wailing in the wee hours of the morning. This only lasts a few minutes, although sometimes it will occur multiple times a night. It's different from the sound of a cat in heat - it's more melodious than that, a meow-yowling that is insistent and expressive, the closest a cat can come to yodeling. MeOW-eYOW EYOOOOWWWWWW. E-yow-meOW? MeOW-yow-reee-YOWWWW!! The sound comes from the depths of the house, just loud enough and long enough to awaken us, although we always fall right back to sleep. I'm not even sure which cat it is. I know it's not Bridget, because she sleeps the entire night on our bed. I suspect Simon, because it sounds most like his voice and he is just off kilter enough to howl throughout the house for no good reason.

Or maybe there is a good reason, although I could not tell you what it is. There have been a few times when the meows sounded so distressed that I hopped out of bed and searched the house for the source, certain I would find Maylee with her head stuck through the banister or Simon sprawled at the bottom of the laundry chute. But, the meowing would stop when my feet hit the floor and I would discover Simon and Maylee sitting silently in the living room, looking up innocently at me like, "What? We're just chillin' here on the hardwood, yo."

Monday night the warbling was particularly persistent. I considered investigating the situation, but knew the cat was just crying wolf. So I tried to tune it out. Which was difficult, because this was an aria like none other, with vibrato and trills impossible to ignore. Even Bridget, who was sleeping soundly at the foot of the bed, stirred.

Now, Bridget is Top Dog around here. (Except that she's, you know, a cat.) She's the firstborn feline, and she's clearly in charge. Simon and Maylee kiss her paws and throw petals on her path. She can barely abide them, but they adore her. Simon will, in fact, start purring when she walks into the room.

So, the Monday night MEOW-yow-YOWWWWWing continued and Bridget shifted and sighed and finally stood. I heard her jump to the floor and pad towards the living room. And then, silence. The howling hushed, and I happily went back to sleep.

Last night Rob and I awoke to another rendition of the same refrain. "Rrmmph," I complained into my pillow. Bridget was curled against my belly. She lifted her head to listen, and then leapt off the bed. I could envision her marching out there, giving a stern glare and growling, "Shut. The Fuck. UP."

The serenade stopped. And then Bridget was back, bounding onto the bed and settling into her spot. I swear I saw her brush the palms of her paws against each other, like, "Well, that oughta take care of that." And it did. We had sweet silence for the rest of the night.