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Comfort Time

Jim-Bob, somewhere in his kitten hood, develop some sort of attachment disorder. This is displayed on a daily basis by his inability to let his favorite humans sit down without being sent on.

Most days when I sit down to work at my computer, he will hop up on my desk and then crawl into my arms, wrapping his paws around my arm. The first few times he did this, I would put him on the nearby chair or the ground and then another spot on the desk and say, “not right now Kitty.”. but he persisted.

I’ve now adopted a new typing style so that I can sit hunched over with the cat curled up between me and the laptop. I’m realizing this is setting a terrible example for the kids-if you badger mommy long enough she’ll eventually give in. But with the subzero temps, I like my living for coat.

The only the little hitch in our new routine is that my other winter routine has become doing my illustrations at my desk (painting doesn’t work during tax season for some reason). Jim-Bob, However, is refusing to recognize the line of demarcation between comfort time (when I’m typing) and creative time (when I really want to draw). I realize that we humans were put on this earth to serve felines, but now my conundrum is how to convince my orange art director that he’ll best be served sleeping next to and not on the drawings.