Disguised by striped and spotted fur, pointed ears and green eyes, she pokes at my ankles with her velvety paws whenever I sit down to write. I try to ignore her, but she jumps onto my desk and struts in front of my computer screen, blocking my view. Her tail is high in the air, swatting my face as it flicks from side to side. Bengal settles down comfortably into my papers, gazing at me with squinty eyes.
I stare back, awestruck by her cuteness. The vibrations of her purring can be felt through the desk, down to the hardwood floor, and back up the chair legs into my body. Hypnotized, I beckon for her to jump into my lap. She obeys, and snuggles into my chest as I rub her ears. I forget my deadline and am lost in the forest of super soft fur.
Instead of pushing her aside and plunging into my writing, I embellish her with play as she jumps off my lap. I shake a ball of newspaper tied to the end of some string which sends her into a chase of high leaps and scrambling tumbles. If I suddenly flick the ball up high, she opens her mouth and releases an odd, spitting chatter, threatening the would-be bird. Her claws skate over the hardwood floors as she slides from one end of the room to the other. This action is better than anything on television, and I hug my belly laughing as she crashes into the couch.
I use the Bengal technique of procrastination with great caution, as I could be distracted for days without knowing. It is practiced to relax me with feelings of well-being before the stress of the deadline wreaks havoc on my nervous system.
Awww, kitty-pooh-kisses-dooby-doo!
blaak sheep 