The Writing Desk Saga
(Sequel to previous blog posts: "Desk with a View" and "Cat with a View")
Shhhhh....be quiet you stupid cats. I can't hear over your incessant scratching of the door. Move out of my way, so I can take a whiff and see if my girl is awake yet. It's very annoying that I have to maneuver around you cats, so I can get to her first every morning. Her arrival is everything to me. You guys couldn't care less. I've seen how many times you've turned your back on her when she's offered belly rubs. Get the hell out of the way, so I can dive into her legs for my morning greeting filled with back rubs and full-body hugs. She thinks you both love her too, but I know the truth. You're just here to make sure she'll be around to give you your evening meal.
My sniffer is telling me that she's seconds away from opening the door. I can hear the sliding of slippers along the floor from an exhausted lady who I can't wait to see! But, wait...it sounds like the slippers are now moving away from the door. Where is she going? Come back! I hear some rattling from her side table. This probably means she's grabbing her glasses, so I'll get ready and listen all the more intently. I sniff, then wait. Then sniff and wait. Then sniff again and ready myself for the full-on catapult I'm about to give her. The doorknob jiggles and twists. The door opens slightly with a creak. I back up in anticipation and soon...she's here! I throw myself onto her in jubilation over this glorious morning event.
"Well, good morning, Jewel - my sweet, precious girl," she says with a smile. Oh, how much I love my girl. How much I wish we could stay in this hallway forever. But after a few hugs, she pats me on the side to let me know it's time for her morning brew. And that dastardly writing desk.
Yes. I have to share her.
It's bad enough that she has to talk to the other people in the house, but it's worse when she sits in front of the computer and acts like it's alive. Yeah, I'm not kidding. She'll get her coffee and sit at the kitchen counter for a few minutes, but after that she's onto pretending to be something or someone else. And that cocky desk just stands there as if my girl owes it something, not to mention the battle with the cats. They are constantly badgering her for a spot on the desk, and she has to remove them several times a day. Between Sonny and Mocha, I'm not sure how she gets any work done. I try to help her by nudging my nose on her leg, but sometimes I misjudge and end up against the wooden leg of the desk instead which is absolutely embarrassing. I stare at her for hours on end, but she gets so engrossed in her stories, she doesn't even know I exist. But I wait anyway. Wait for her to get up, so I can follow her to any room she wishes. I must be her escort at all times. The cats are jealous of this, of course, and try to run through her legs for attention, but that just ends up pissing her off when she stumbles. They are idiots.
But when she returns to her writing, she goes away again....somewhere. I'm not quite sure where, though she talks of it often. Sometimes she's saving a young man from an insane landlord, and sometimes she's planning the escape of an imprisoned lady. But no matter where she is, I want be the first to welcome her back. She goes on many journeys, after all, so I want to make sure she knows where her home is; so she'll always find me. Not the cats or the desk, both of which are useless. Just me.
(Sequel to previous blog posts: "Desk with a View" and "Cat with a View")
Shhhhh....be quiet you stupid cats. I can't hear over your incessant scratching of the door. Move out of my way, so I can take a whiff and see if my girl is awake yet. It's very annoying that I have to maneuver around you cats, so I can get to her first every morning. Her arrival is everything to me. You guys couldn't care less. I've seen how many times you've turned your back on her when she's offered belly rubs. Get the hell out of the way, so I can dive into her legs for my morning greeting filled with back rubs and full-body hugs. She thinks you both love her too, but I know the truth. You're just here to make sure she'll be around to give you your evening meal.
My sniffer is telling me that she's seconds away from opening the door. I can hear the sliding of slippers along the floor from an exhausted lady who I can't wait to see! But, wait...it sounds like the slippers are now moving away from the door. Where is she going? Come back! I hear some rattling from her side table. This probably means she's grabbing her glasses, so I'll get ready and listen all the more intently. I sniff, then wait. Then sniff and wait. Then sniff again and ready myself for the full-on catapult I'm about to give her. The doorknob jiggles and twists. The door opens slightly with a creak. I back up in anticipation and soon...she's here! I throw myself onto her in jubilation over this glorious morning event.
"Well, good morning, Jewel - my sweet, precious girl," she says with a smile. Oh, how much I love my girl. How much I wish we could stay in this hallway forever. But after a few hugs, she pats me on the side to let me know it's time for her morning brew. And that dastardly writing desk.
Yes. I have to share her.
It's bad enough that she has to talk to the other people in the house, but it's worse when she sits in front of the computer and acts like it's alive. Yeah, I'm not kidding. She'll get her coffee and sit at the kitchen counter for a few minutes, but after that she's onto pretending to be something or someone else. And that cocky desk just stands there as if my girl owes it something, not to mention the battle with the cats. They are constantly badgering her for a spot on the desk, and she has to remove them several times a day. Between Sonny and Mocha, I'm not sure how she gets any work done. I try to help her by nudging my nose on her leg, but sometimes I misjudge and end up against the wooden leg of the desk instead which is absolutely embarrassing. I stare at her for hours on end, but she gets so engrossed in her stories, she doesn't even know I exist. But I wait anyway. Wait for her to get up, so I can follow her to any room she wishes. I must be her escort at all times. The cats are jealous of this, of course, and try to run through her legs for attention, but that just ends up pissing her off when she stumbles. They are idiots.
But when she returns to her writing, she goes away again....somewhere. I'm not quite sure where, though she talks of it often. Sometimes she's saving a young man from an insane landlord, and sometimes she's planning the escape of an imprisoned lady. But no matter where she is, I want be the first to welcome her back. She goes on many journeys, after all, so I want to make sure she knows where her home is; so she'll always find me. Not the cats or the desk, both of which are useless. Just me.
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