The cat that interferes with sleep

I'm here for your advice. There's a cat. The cat has ten kilograms. Got a bed. The bed has a high soft back width of 10-15 centimeters. There are cat owners who sleep on this bed.
At night, the cat jumps on the back of the bed and walks on it. The cat has a night promenade. But since the cat in a past life was a cow and some features have transferred to the current incarnation, on the fourth or fifth walk, he loses his balance and squashes down.
If I'm lucky, the cat falls next to me. If I'm not lucky, ten kilograms of a cat land on my head, and for some reason always with my ass.

The question is, how do you get rid of this habit?

Tried:
Sticky ribbons laid out on the back of the bed. (As a result, they were torn away from the cat at midnight, almost without a scalp, they left him).
- the cat's unfavorable aroma of ylang-ylang. (The cat did not care that the smell was unloved.)
- tangerine peel in large quantities (The cat squeamishly smashed the skins on my head, in the process fell behind them himself).

What else can we do? I've already slept with a sprinkler under my pillow. The cat escapes, then comes back.

Two days ago, I posted a cry in the community. I got a lot of feedback. Two went into action right away.
As promised, I'm reporting.

I love simple and easy-to-implement ideas. Therefore, proposals to nail the shelf to the bed, to the cat, to his head, so that he would be comfortable falling on it, were postponed for later.

To begin with, I took six balloons from the child, inflated and pinched them between the wall and the bed. It was very beautiful. My husband and I looked at them and went to bed.

In the middle of the night, a shot went off. I decided that my husband had shot a cat (although the only weapon in our house was a water gun).
When the lights were turned on, the cat was sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of blue ball and squinted. They gave him a kick, moved the balls and went to bed again. It was our strategic mistake to prove how little we know about cats.

The second and third balls he blew twenty minutes later and rode away, laughing mockingly. My husband urged me to clean it up and finish my experiments for today. While I was hiding the balls in the closet, the cat crept up to the biggest one and hit it with his paw.

In the net result: minus four balls, minus two hours of sleep, minus eight meters of nerve fibers for two adults. Plus entertaining the cat.

Then came the backup option. The entire back of the bed was laid foil in several layers to rustle louder. I assured my husband that now he can sleep peacefully: on foil, the cat definitely will not fall – he will be afraid.

Well, that's pretty much what happened. The cat came in a couple of hours after we fell asleep. Jumped from closet to foil. Foil rustled, the cat was terribly frightened, soared into the air and fell on her husband.

In the net result: minus ten meters of foil, minus forty drops of motherwort for two adults. Plus entertaining the cat.

So I had a problem that I came into the community with.

After the foil and balls didn’t work, I started thinking the other way: how to keep a cat out of the bedroom at night.

The first was the cat scareper. Unfortunately, the cat didn't realize it was a scaremonger. But the husband understood, who wrinkled, sniffed and eventually asked to ventilate the room. So now I have a husband scareper, who needs - I can give.

Approximately the same stupidity was a basin of water. We made it so that the cat would splash and forget about the bed. The calculation was justified by half: the cat splashed, but did not forget about the bed.
At night he jumped up to us, shaking his wet paws. I thought he had twenty-two of them. Ten he stepped on my face, the rest ran over the blanket and the sheet.
Finally, he bellowly kissed his husband on the nose, poking at him with a wet muzzle with which water dripped.

After that, the husband said that the hell with him, with the interior, he agrees to the shelf.
I brought a lacquered board with a sideboard in the evening, tinkered for two hours, scolded the innocent bed and, finally, got drunk. I wanted to say that it would be better for a cat to fall on us than this thing (no one would get out of it alive). She looked at her husband’s face and decided to keep quiet. Okay, I think we'll sleep one night, and then I'll take it off.

In addition, before going to bed, a child came running and threw his toys at her. I waved my hand and didn’t swear, because I was wondering which of the relatives would raise the child if we were buried under the shelf.
(I should say that I was worried in vain: as it turned out, her husband pinned her on his conscience.)
A cat came to the shelf at night. He walked to the middle of the shelf and touched one of the toys with his paw. It turned out to be an interactive hamster "joo-joo-pets."
The cat's paw touched the hamster. He exclaimed, “Abuzuyuyu-zy!” and ran at the cat, glowing with love.
I would love to tell you what happened next. I’m not going to lie, we haven’t seen it. The cat was never seen again until morning. The hamster ran to the edge of the shelf and killed himself like a lemming, jumping off a cliff into a basin of water.

Result: We removed the shelf.
A guard hamster now sits on the back of the bed. The cat doesn't come into the room. And if he happens to see a hamster through an open door, he swells to the size of a manul and retreats in horror.

Eileen O'Connor