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Skin the Kitty!

15 Mar

It was later than I would have liked, but as I changed clothes, I stared at my bed.  Its thick blankets were so inviting after a long day that began with so much procrastination, and ended with a blog post, several dungeon runs with my guild, and two roleplay threads in a forum that needed answers and more planning.  One roleplay needed a start– some beginning post that introduced the plot and piqued the interest of my partner, who I had never played with before.  The other needed a reply, and though her skills were good, and I was having fun, her passive posts made it difficult at times to begin work on a reply.  Once I forced myself, the issue became null, however.

The guild runs weren’t bad.  I was sorely unneeded– our rogue could easily have tanked all three.  Hell, our shadow priest could have soloed each of them, and her player was crummy at the game.  He was one of those ‘hippy’ types that didn’t believe that giving a character proper equipment and learning every aspect of the class should be an important role, and that all it took was a button-mash to reach and defeat the last boss.  He didn’t even move when the ground burst into flame.

Our new healer for the guild was good and attentive, though– even complained when we ran too far ahead.  He made an effort, and we did what we could to try to get him up a few more levels so he could catch up with the rest of us.  Our druid and rogue were bad-ass as well, though the rogue had suicidal tendencies.  He often tested himself against silly odds.

Then again, I did the same against what would be suicide for an entire at-level group.

As I reflected, I finished changing and unfolded my stepping stool– a folding chair– so I could get into my loft bed.  Already, thoughts of roleplaying and World of Warcraft fled my mind, and I embraced the warm nothingness that sleep offered.  My eyes slowly drifted shut, and it begin.

“Murr?”

It was Velvet.  She hopped onto the bed.  Her claws were only barely extended as her other-wise soft paw dragged along my forearm.  I opened my eyes and spotted her just as she began to peer at the shelf at the head of my bed.  Absently, I hooked my hand under her chest and pulled her on top of mine, where I scratched her ears and chin and tried to convince her to cuddle with me.

She wandered off, onto the desk that was attached to my bed.  I closed my eyes, and it seemed like she waited only seconds to return.  Rather than get my attention with paws, she chose instead to directly approach my shelf.  On instinct, I pulled her onto my chest once more.

Time passed as she continued on this route, until I finally got up.  She dashed from the room.  With full knowledge that she had food and water, I closed the door behind her and crawled back to my bed.  I feel I must have slept for at least a small amount of time, because I woke mid-mewl.

Velvet wanted back in.  I heard her try to open the door with her sharp claws.  It grated my ears.  Her cries became louder, as though being outside of my room was a painful ordeal.  Many times, I tried to ignore it and go to sleep.  I was becoming more and more irritated.  Finally, I let her back in.  She dashed onto the desk, and as I laid down, she hopped back onto the bed, where her pestering began anew as I laid down.

It occurred to me that she simply had too much energy, and wanted me to play with her.

It also occurred to me that it was three in the morning, and fuck that.

After another half hour, I booted her from my room again, only for her pathetic sounds to wake me after I went back to sleep.

Several thoughts more suited for a serial killer danced in my head, but I banished them as I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow.

Eventually, as any good parent, I let her in again.  This time, I closed the door, in hopes that she would spend more time trying to get out than pestering me.

Of course, the little cat decided it best to run laps, and alternate between both options.

First, she tried to get my attention.  I tossed her onto my belly.  She got up and trotted to the foot board of my bed and stared at my door, trilling and meowing for several long moments before she jumped to the floor, and dashed back to my desk.

How nice it must be, not to have to be up in an hour.

Again, I booted her from my room.  I turned my alarm off entirely, and I growled at her.

The damage was already done.

Sleep washed over me as I laid back and pulled up the now-too-warm blankets.  My stress warmed them too much.  Despite the discomfort of too much warmth, I finally dropped into sleep.

An hour felt like a second, and I heard Mom call for me.  Internally, I swore in a made-up language of grumbling and huffing, and rolled over to try to steal a few more minutes of sleep.

Several times, I was called again.  Several times, I changed position and remained in bed.  Finally, Mom was ready to leave, and I crawled from my bed and pulled on my pants and jacket.  I gathered my laptop and all of its cords and accessories, and forced myself up the stairs.  The table was filled with my mom’s stuff, so I set up halfway, plugged in my laptop, and helped her make tea while I waited for her to make room on the table for me.  Once she left, all was quiet for a time, and I stole a pair of her fuzzy socks, because all of my own socks were in the laundry– crusty and cold from the sweat of several days gone by.

As I settled in, I decided that yesterday I procrastinated enough, and began to write about my crummy night.

Yeah.  I was at it again.

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Posted by on March 15, 2013 in Nonfiction

 

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