This is Chester. He’s resting after a rather traumatic morning.
He came down sometime during the morning, into the office, and found me asleep in my chair.
After a long night last night, working on one of my stories, the plotline stretched well into the night and the creative juices were flowing.
It was very late when I got to bed, and I was surprised that he was not on the bed waiting for me like he usually is.
He’s one of those cats, very hard to move, and very difficult to work around when you try to stretch your legs, And, being summer, he tends to jump around thinking it’s prey, and bites.
He came down, saw me asleep and decided that I might be dead or something worse.
First, he jumped for the desk to my lap. I didn’t move.
Second, he used a paw to tap on my arm. I didn’t feel it.
Third, he did one of those hideous cat screams, and that nearly did give me a heart attack.
What is it they say, the cure is worse than the disease?
“What the hell is the matter with you,” I ask when finally my heart rate is back to under 200.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Isn’t that what you want, to become master of the house?”
“I’m already that, I just need a servant. Don’t do that again. Good servants are hard to find.”
With that, he jumps down and goes back to his lair, plotting, no doubt, the next lot of mischief he can get into.