Tabby seems to think that my main function in life, and I'm not talking function in general but that every bit of my life up to this minute has lead to and, is now centered around the concern of providing for her a lap to sit on today while my hands perform the gentle but ceaseless task of insuring that her modest purr is not interrupted, even momentarily.
I am honored that she has chosen me over her plush throne in the attic on this rainy day, but honestly, how is a man supposed to accomplish his given tasks and chores with the weight of such an obligation crushing what little motivation a simple pot of bergamot tea can provide.
So this is my question: Have I acquired too much of a tolerance to caffeine... or too much tolerance for the adorable furball on my lap.
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