Distracting Cats

by Kay

There's a reason I go to McDonalds to write. The distracting cats, all two of them. First they want milk, then a ball or milk ring to chase, then tuuuunnaahh (you can almost hear them meow it), then to lay across my work, walk across the keyboard, sleep in the basket under the lamp just within petting reach, or, their favorite, curl up on my lap and cast a sleep spell, so I can't move to upset them.

They are now 12 cat years old now and are the human equal of 64 human years, according to one website I found. I guess that answers the question "Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?"

Guess so. But I won't get much writing done.