Against My Better Judgment: It’s Skippy’s World, And We All Just Live In It

It’s 3:00 a.m. when I am suddenly woken by a primal “MEOW!,” followed by a steady stream of bangs. Nobody else seems to stir, but this light sleeper is now wide awake. This routine has gone on for years. Skippy the cat, our family’s 30-pound cat, thinks he can will food to come out of his automatic feeder through sheer force. Skippy is not a smart animal but somehow has 1,856 Instagram followers. Dear friend, we need to talk about Skippy the Cat.

In order to fully understand the story, you have to realize that I did not want any pets. We had just moved into a new house and I wanted it pet free. You see, dear reader, we had just rehoused a dog that bit one of our daughters in the face. Even though I didn’t want a pet, Mrs. Judgment decided Daughter Judgment, who was a toddler at the time, needed a pet. So down to the animal shelter they went. Although they were going just to “look,” Skippy had other plans. As Mrs. and Daughter Judgment walked through the cat area, Skippy reached out to Daughter Judgment. The decision was made, and Skippy ended up at home with us. In hindsight, I can’t help but think this was the first step in his master manipulation.

The funny thing is Skippy might be the most famous social media personality that I have the pleasure of knowing, in spite of being as dumb as a box of rocks. Although he has not figured out how a feeding schedule works, he has 1,856 followers as we speak, even though he has not made a post since May 2020. At the height of his popularity, he was actually invited to appear on a local morning radio show, where he pranced around like he owned the place. He might be the only celebrity incapable of feeding himself breakfast. I don’t know what it says about social media that Skippy’s followers dwarf the readers of this fine blog, but out of self-preservation I have not chosen to consider this point too closely.

It was only a matter of time before Hollywood came calling. Or in this case, local radio. Mrs. Judgment carried a carrier full of lazy cat down to the local radio station to meet a Skippy super fan, who happened to be a minor personality on the local morning radio show. While the personality acted like he had met the Beatles, Skippy walked around like he owned the place, made himself at home under a desk, and refused to come out. Mrs. Judgment found the whole scene adorable. The audio, however, turned out to be unusable, presumably due to the squeals from Skippy’s super fan. Skippy did not appear bothered by the whole scene, as he is always indifferent to the chaos he causes. Skippy goes where he wants, does whatever he wants, and leaves everyone else to deal with the consequences.

Our family celebrity’s indifference to the world around himself is quite evident in his daily routine. Skippy rarely leaves the bedroom, sleeps most of the day, and only stirs at mealtime. He does stir when Mrs. Judgment enters the room for his pets and affirmations of, “you’re a good boy,” in a tone that makes me believe it is directed at me more than the cat. The only other excitement comes when the dogs dare enter the room. Both Hagrid, our equally stupid bulldog, and Bonnie, our energetic German Shepherd-Pit Bull mix, appear to have PTSD from being slapped in the snout by Skippy and keep their distance. Hagrid tried for months to befriend Skippy, who was not interested in the slightest. Bonnie’s tail still wags excitedly at the prospect of playing with Skippy, but isn’t yet brave enough to push it.

At night, Skippy turns into a completely different animal. When Mrs. Judgment is late going to bed, Skippy starts whining loud enough for the neighbors to hear. If I am in bed without Mrs. Judgment, he will crawl up next to me and start poking me with his claws. Sometimes, he finds my hand and rubs his ginormous head against it, forcing me to pet him. And then, of course, there is the feeder. Seven years. Every night. He has not yet figured it out. It is slightly comical because my Mrs. Judgment recorded a voice message which plays every time the food drops. If Skippy hits the right spot with his head, I hear “Skip Skip, dinner” over and over. Because he is conditioned to hear this when his food drops, that stupid cat thinks his food is about to drop. When it doesn’t, he tries again and again by hitting that exact spot. Sometimes it goes on for so long that we have to put the feeder on a shelf for the rest of the night.

Would I ever suggest that we “rehouse” Skippy? Not for a million dollars. Mrs. Judgment genuinely loves Skippy and the chaos he creates. I think she secretly loves how Skippy picks on me at night. Daughter Judgment is now ten years old and still comes into our room specifically to snuggle Skippy. He is her cat — he picked her, she named him, and they provide comfort to each other. So even though I am annoyed by the 3 a.m. head banging, I love Skippy because he brings happiness to Mrs. and Daughter Judgment, and that makes me happy.