A Brief Missive on Why I am Becoming a Non-Lover of Felines

I'm starting to not love my cats for two reasons:
1. Yesterday, at 4.53 in the a.m., Koshka starts shaking my door (I wasn't even in my room, I was in the guest room, but she found me!) and crying. Loudly. I opened it to let them in so I could go back to sleep. Mavis started playing with the blinds by my head. Then, visiting baby woke up and dog started barking, all within an hour, so trying to get back to sleep became futile.
2. After having been rudely awakened yesterday morning, I was quite tired last night. I actually went to sleep quickly and easily, that's something rare for me. Sleeping. Sleeping. Sleeping. CRASH! What the heck? Is someone breaking in? No, the cats knocked over my humongo peace lily and broke the pot, thus, ironically, shattering the peaceful slumber which I was so enjoying. So I go downstairs and clean it up some. Mainly just picked up the broken pot and put the otherwise unscathed plant in the sink, dowsing it with bitter spray so they won't chew it up. Back to bed. Hm. My thumb is burning. Turn on light. Horrible sliver of a cut at the base of my thumb. Why is it that small cuts like this (and paper cuts) hurt worse than huge gaping wounds? Did I mention that it was 4.30? Again in the a.m.? Yeah, so not caring about a little blood, I turned off the light and went back to sleep. This morning, I went down to let out world's best pet and clean up the mess of dirt. Neat, one had tried to eat some of the plant, but failed miserably and the remnants of said attempt were all over the floor. What a lovely way to start the day.