I was going to write a post mocking Kitten Thunder’s pain. They are so tortured, having to put up with pictures when they sleep in the box on the desk. Seriously, it is bad enough that I’ve taken to working at my desk instead of on the the couch.
But then I walked out into the living room to ask The Boy if he was hungry. Because I was full of the empty. And there, on the recliner, I saw Oliver laying on the armrest next to his Boy. He looked bored. And put down upon.
After a while, The Boy said he was in fact hungry. We discussed plans for dinner. “Food,” I suggested. Then The Boy asked for specifics. I reminded him that the plan, when we made a plan on Saturday, was spaghetti. Spaghetti, he said, still seemed like a goo plan.
But he didn’t get up.
And he didn’t get up.
Finally, The Boy pointed out that he would disturb Kitten Thunder if he got up to cook.
Since all my boys were on the recliner, I got up and mumbled something about boiling water and using the white box. I went into the kitchen.
That did the trick.
Obi and The Boy were suddenly inspired to help me. Oliver was more than happy to take over the warm spot in the recliner.
Aww, I love a happy ending. I nearly starved to death on Sunday with two cats piled on top of me on the couch.
I know exactly how that goes. I drink cold coffee almost every morning because The Boy brings it to me during the post-breakfast snuggle and I can’t reach my mug on the coffee table. SO. HARD.