One of the things I’ve always enjoyed the most is reading. I used to be an avid bookworm that read every single thing that happened to have pages and letters on it but, eventually, over the years, I became way more selective about the books I read. And I’ve made a commitment with myself to read only what I felt was worth my time (you know, so little time, so many books?).
And I really do enjoy taking a book to bed and reading until my eyes can no longer focus the words in front of me. But something is getting in my way. A white, furry and fluffy thing… To be more specific, a cat.
Yes, I believe one of my cats wants me to die an illiterate fool. And I have the proof to support the theory (it’s not a very scientific method, but it’s all I’ve got).
This cat, in particular, has slept on my bed for quite a few years, ever since she got really sick and I took her in, to keep her warm at night. And, every night from there on, sooner or later, she comes to my bed and asks to be let in under the covers. But, what I have observed, after hypothesizing my theory is that, when I want to read, she immediately jumps on my chest and lies as close to my nose as it is physically possible, therefore, keeping me from enjoying a good book.
On the other hand, when I don’t feel like reading, I sometimes have to wait for over an hour for Little Miss Furry Buttocks (that’s not her actual name, though it would be kind of cool) to make up her mind and come to sleep.
So, in conclusion, I believe she wants to keep me in a state of blissful ignorance.
My other theory is that she believes books (or computers, or TV) put us under some kind of spell that can only be broken by her direct and swift intervention, and considers herself a sort of vigilante against those magical items that will, eventually, prevent us from paying attention to their ultimate needs (that food bowl is not going to fill itself). Cats are jerks… Adorable assholes… Who am I kidding, I couldn’t live without them.
Crazy cat lady, over and out!