Motivation

There is nothing more motivating than a cat throwing up on your head…

I recall a quote from a management course that I used to teach, which went something like …’motivation refers to the behaviours one chooses for themselves’.

This morning, I practiced the true meaning of extrinsic motivation. That is, ..’we do something because we are impelled to..’.

I shot out of bed almost faster than the projectile. Almost. Half lay on my pillow, while the rest dripped off my face and hair. My cat, startled certainly by my roaring, sat huddled on top of the far end of the bed, looking suspiciously pleased and not in the least bit sickly. As a matter of fact, immediately after my screaming sprint to the washroom and clean up; she and her ginger cohort ran merrily down the stairs and straight to their empty food dishes, where they waited impatiently for breakfast.

Up until a few years ago, I have had dogs all of my life. I do not believe a dog would purposefully do this. That is, to throw up on ones head. As a matter of fact, if we had a dog there never would be any hairball-y vomit to clean up. He or she (no discrimination in the dog world) would be compelled by their own intrinsic motivation; a hedonistic pleasure to ingest any type of food matter (digested or not) that comes out of any orifice of a cat…or probably most any animal.

Getting back to the part where I was motivated by vomit; my partner was in the shower at the time, heard my scream and said…absolutely nothing.

Not one to break a routine, he went on showering without so much as a ‘You okay’?

This, my friends, is the precise reason why I have trust issues. A robber could burst through our bedroom door, shoot me, take all of our valuables (such as our 10 year old television with the audio that is beyond repair) and my partner wouldn’t be the wiser.

He probably would continue on with his morning routine, carefully stepping over my body on his way out the door, barely recognizing that eventually he would need to come home from work and that there would be no television to watch.

I arrived in our kitchen and gave the cats a look that would have sent any dog whimpering away, tail between its’ legs. They merely sat there, not looking in the least bit abashed, meowing (demanding) that I fill their empty stomachs (well, at least one of them had an empty stomach..) immediately.

Before I fed them, I made myself a cup of tea…slowly. Just to show them that I was the one in charge and that I was pissed off with them. It was (of course) of no benefit to do this. I derived little to no satisfaction since they continued their incessant meowing while I stood there, waiting for the kettle to boil, pretending not to hear them.

After tending to their needs, I finally sat down at the table. At this point my partner had made his way to the kitchen (smelling like soap and not puke I might add). He scanned the area to see if I had made him a coffee (which I hadn’t), and after he had started the coffee maker, casually asked what the yelling was all about while he was in the shower.

Without looking at him, I stated that the cat had puked on my head.

I won’t tell you what he said, but rather what he didn’t say.

He didn’t say ‘ Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry that happened!’.

I can tell you he didn’t hug me.

He walked out the door, freshly showered, with his travel mug of coffee- probably thinking that he was the lucky one today. He didn’t wake to a cat vomiting on his head. He was on his way to work, so he didn’t need to help strip the bed sheets…My guess is that he will completely forget the incident.

As for me? I am working on training a cat to throw up on command (on his side of the bed).

Now, as my daughter recently said,  “Today is a good day to have a good day”. I’m off to shower.