As all of you know by now, I've been attempting to devote between 4-5 hours a night to fiction writing.
The cat's had other ideas:
I have a laptop. Do you know how hard it is to fit a feline and a laptop in one small lap? And she's an immovable force. NP asked how something so cute could be so homicidal. There's only one answer: "She bites. She's a biter."
Thank you, Austin Powers.
When she's not monopolizing my lap, she's distracting me with terminal cute or bizarre activities. This is the sight that greeted my eyes when I looked up from the computer screen the other night:
Grate. All I have is the arse-end of a cat. And just what the hell is she doing? There's nothing interesting on the porch.
A few seconds later, the drapes began wriggling, and all became clear:
She thinks I put up drapes specifically for her own entertainment. She dives into them, starts batting them, then takes off for a mad gallop down the hallway, as if all the window treatments in Hades were after her.
Right now, she's playing Peaceful Little Angel Kitty on the sofa, so I guess I'd best take advantage of the quiet to get some work done...