When my kids were small I would drape a long sheer tablecloth over the dining room table, and crawl under it with my morning tea. It was enough so that I could keep an eye on them, but still enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet, unnoticed. I remember the caution I took to be very quiet so as not to blow my cover. Now, thirty years later, I have to start sneaking around again. No, not children – it’s the cats! While I am flattered that they are so fond of me, sometimes I just need a bit of space. Trips to the loo have become a group outing.  If I so much as shift position on the couch, they think it’s time to eat. Indy seems to think my tablet is his throne, and has no qualms about sitting on it while I am typing. Sam headbuts me while I am working in the kitchen, and will try to jump on the butcher block if I leave so much as a Kalamata olive there. A couple of problems:

 1) Their hearing is much better than my kids’ ever was.  I swear they sleep with their radar on. 

 2) I am not anywhere near agile enough to crawl under the dining room table with a hot beverage.

On the up side, I do have the option of leaving them home alone with a bowl of kibble. Ah, the price we pay for being loved. ❤❤❤