Damn Cat

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...