How does my cat know when I need quiet to concentrate? He can laze around all morning, never intruding into my chore-time; dishes, laundry, email, and mom are boring to him.
During this time, he virtually ignores me, but as soon as I slip into the cockpit of my computer world, he comes alive. Suddenly he is very needy. His food and water dishes are freshly filled, so it isn’t that which he wants. His bed is freshly fluffed and his coat has been brushed. No, he just wants me away from the computer. Suddenly the shoe is on the other foot, and it is I who ignores him.
I close the studio door, knowing all his needs have been met and he will be good to go for a couple of hours. Now there is much discussion on the other side of the door: quiet meows quickly become demand-meows which leads to standing up and scratching furiously at the door. There is no reasoning with him. There must be some infinitesimal squeak in my chair, because when I get up and open the door, he is curled up in the rocking chair, all yawns and purrs, asking me to watch him sleep. Okay, I perch on the chair arm and scratch behind his ears and explain that I need to work a bit, and he seems content to sleep all afternoon, so I stand up and head back to the studio and the computer and my work. Before I get to the door, Cat has plastered himself in front of it, daring me to get past him. By now I am losing patience with the cat-and-mom game. I march into my studio, firmly close the door, and turn on some music, insert earphones, and try to ignore the fact that there is a mad cat waiting for me to finish.