Getting the Furry Message

It's been busy times for me this week - working long hours at the office, working even longer hours at home.

Thus not much daily in the ol' Hayley Daily.

In fact, I'm merely stepping away, as it were, from my stack of To-Edit paperwork to type this quick note. You see, I've been distracted by a pile of fur.

Well, actually two piles of fur.

People say that cats are independent. Cats don't need people. Cats do as they please.

HOGWASH.

Cats, when properly treated and fussed over and spoiled as is their right, become what folks deep in the heart of Texas call "ruint."

And our two furbabies are Totally Ruint.

It's as though I'm living with two two-year-olds who will Never Grow Up. Ever. Never Ever.

Lord help me.

Right now, one is sitting on the armchair next to my desk - just within reach should I, say, want to give her a stroke.

But that's better than the other one, who has managed to make the thin strip of open chair seat directly behind me his perch. Yes, directly behind me. I am stuck sitting up straight at the front of my chair.

If I'd wanted to do yoga tonight, I would have gone to class.

Anyway, I'll take these piles of fur over the two that were here just minutes ago - batting my pens, binder clips and paperwork off the desk. Those two piles of fur nearly met an early death.

Kind of like the pile of fur that stuck his head directly between my hand and The Boy's back when I was in the middle of scratching an itch this morning.

Outrageous.

Ruint, I tell you. Absolutely ruint.