Daylight-saving time cat fight

Seems somebody forgot to tell cats about daylight-saving time. Dian Overly suspects that Benjamin Franklin didn't own a cat when he wrote his 1784 essay, "An Economical Project," the piece that she blames for "starting the whole damn thing." Hawaii, Arizona and the U.S. territories do not participate in the daylight-saving time, and, after battling with her cat, Barnaby, the Walnut Creek resident says she may well move to one of them.

On that fateful Sunday morning last November, after tediously setting all the clocks back the night before, I elevated an uncooperative eyelid and saw that it was still dark. I dared not move as I sensed my older cat, Rosie, between my knees, snuggled into protective custody. On my nightstand clock, the green numbers glared 4:00 a.m.

One thought whirled through my brain: Spring ahead, fall back. Hooray, I'd get an extra hour of sleep! I rolled over on my back to enjoy a few more hours of slumber, but the innocent motion awakened Rosie and her son, Barnaby, and thus began the feline struggle for power. Thanks to Mr. Franklin's brainstorm, I realized that this 4 a.m. was their 5 a.m. - their usual hour to begin their sole goal for the day, which is to get me out of bed so I could feed them.

Barnaby stuck his head and front paws under the covers beside my head and purred ever so sweetly in my ear, but I ignored him. Then he tried kneading my shoulder. When this also failed to elicit a reaction, he ended the detente by wrenching his 15-pound body aside and lunging on his 10-pound mother, Rosie, resulting in a wrestling match of 25 pounds bouncing on my stomach.

Just before I was about to cry uncle, they both tore off the bed, galloping around the house. Before I had time to turn back for a few moments' respite, the terrible twosome returned with one final crash into my body.

Once again, Barnaby shoved his nose up against mine and purred into my face to check if any progress had been made on my sleeping status.

When this didn't work, he pawed the covers as though digging for food. Sensing that I was not getting up despite their best efforts, off they scuttled to their individual resting spots. Whew. Home free. Or so I thought.

Because then came the piece de resistance: Thump! Thump! Thump! What the heck? Thump! Thump! Thump!

I finally extricated myself from the bed where I had been falling in and out of a stupor and followed the thumping sound to the den. There I found Barnaby. The irascible cat was trying to grab my attention by banging pictures, which were now all askew, against the wall. And it worked.

"OK, OK," I yelled. "I'm up!" And sighing, I closed my eyes and pondered the dreaded question:

We change the clocks again when?

Sent pet tales to home@sfchronicle.com.

This article appeared on page E - 7 of the San Francisco Chronicle