I'm late. My Cat Assistant knows the routine: it's morning; he smells the coffee brewing and sees me bringing my running shoes and water bottle out to the deck.
Sometimes, without thinking, I'll put my laptop on his chair...and he totally freaks out. He doesn't know where to sit. How is he supposed to work under these conditions?
Don't I know that he needs to sit within six inches of me while I drink my coffee and put on my shoes? That his duties include licking my fingers while I'm trying to type? It's his job; it's in his DNA -- just like inappropriate urine marking is. (Thank God we figured out the right KittyProzac for that problem -- his last owner was going to have him put to sleep: "Purebred Abyssinian free to a good home...")
It is said they're very dog-like, these Abyssinians. And here he is, by my side in the Cat Assistant chair, hard at work herding his human, watching everything I do -- and if I go too long without petting him, he stretches his paw out as if to say, "Hey! Remember me? Reporting for duty! Put me to work!"
How many other Cat Assistants are out there in the workforce, earning their meager salaries of wet and dry food and chin scratches, I wonder?
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