Our family has three feline members: Hebe, Jack, and Oliver. Being on a regimented diet with strict feeding times, they often let us know that they are hungry. They also often let us know that they are assholes.

The warm-up routine to their evening feeding, though still annoying, is bearable. It pretty much consists of constant meowing and running in front of your ankles as you walk around. Apparently, part of domesticated cat evolution taught them to bring down their master to their eye level so they can more vocally represent their hunger. They generally start this behavior about an hour before feeding time, maybe earlier if they hear the garage door, an event they associate with dinner time.

No, it is the morning in which they harness all of their powers of annoyance. Every morning, while we are still sleeping, they put on an impromptu performance in the art of dicketry. They each even have their own roles. Hebe alternates between running across the bed near the headboard and knocking items off of dressers with her paws. Jack scratches at the bed and chases Hebe around the room. But Oliver is the true sadist. He has two top-notch moves in his repertoire: meowing louder than a bullhorn and laying down on a body part (I'll let you guess which one) only to spring up with all of his weight directed at his paws.

Well, lucky us, because today he expanded his range. This morning, Oliver hopped up on the bed and I swear to God he barked. A complex wave of emotions swept over me... At first I was angry, but that quickly gave way to feelings of awe. After giving in to the terrorists' demands and feeding them, I mulled it over in the shower and I can say now that I am in a state of fear. I'm not sure I can survive in a world when those kinds of weapons are in the paws of those who are not afraid to use them.