So amidst the chaos of moving before they gut the condo to repair the flood damage, I’m trying oh-so-hard to get work done. I thought it was time that I share with you the typical writer afternoon…with cats.
I want to write. I need to write. Which is really hard when this happens:
I thought maybe he’d settle down to sleep so I could work without his head and tail in the way. Of course not.
Instead, he decided I wasn’t paying enough attention to him.
I’m doomed. DOOMED.
When this didn’t work, he batted my husband’s sucker across the desk, hooked his claws in the wrapper, and shredded the plastic until the sucker was free from it’s confines.
Which means I had to eat it. I was saving it from torture and suffering at the…paws of Riley!
Of course, since he liberated the sucker, he wanted to eat it…or he thought he did. Whatever it smelled like, it was strong enough an odor that this was his face upon smelling it:
You can tell from the background that at this point, I had given up working for the moment. I checked out Facebook and ate lunch while playing with the furball and eating the sucker.
And then this happened: