I am sitting at my computer, pecking at the keys with one hand, because the other hand is balancing a Siamese cat on my shoulder. His name is Yulie. I'm getting good at this one-handed thing. I'm also getting good at talking on the telephone over a purring, talkative Siamese, who has much to say and no intention of not saying it. Draped over and completely covering the 30-day calendar on my desk, is my 2nd cat, Ellie. I'm not so good at pushing her belly out of the way to write down upcoming social events, or work deadlines on the calendar. She doesn't like to be disturbed. Elle, 1/2 Egyptian Mau and 1/2 Sealpoint Siamese, maintains that there is no need for me to have any obligations, anyway, other than rubbing her belly or tossing one of her toys. We're at a stalemate over this but Ellie has the upper paw.
My husband says I spoil them. I have no idea where he gets that idea from.
What's that Yulie, time for a treat? Coming right up. Don't move, son. I'll bring it right to you. Where's that itch, Ellie? Let mommy get her backscratcher. Time to be brushed or have your nails clipped? I'll drop what I'm doing and get right on it.
Now, where was I? Oh, yes. My husband thinks I spoil them. Honestly. Men.