I sit down to work. A gray-striped kitten steals my pen and runs around the room with it in his mouth. I chase him for fun and a photo. Ok. Back to work. A gray-striped kitten appears on my desk and pulls the ribbon bookmark out of my journal.
I smile and stroke his soft back. He hops onto the windowsill and disappears behind the curtain. Now I can work. A gray-striped kitten appears on my desk and stands on hindquarters to place tiny paws onto the computer monitor. He taps wherever the cursor is, wherever color or light attracts his attention.
I intervene. I understand you want to help, I tell him, scooping him up and setting him in my lap. He leaps down and runs away. Hard at work, kitten gracefully ignored, I realize my laptop is beginning to slide across the desk. A gray-stripped kitten strikes again. From the floor, he is pulling on the ribbon bookmark, and with it the whole journal, which in turn is dragging the laptop towards destruction.
I scoot everything away from the edge of the desk, back to center. What are you doing? I ask him, but he doesn’t know. This writer’s assistant gig is all mew to him. He hugs the desk leg, perts queringly at me, his little amber eyes brimming with hope. Yes. I assure him. You’re doing a great job. You’re hired. In response, he excitedly shuffles the pen around under my chair and purrs. A gray-striped kitten steals my heart.
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