My cat doesn’t want me to do my homework.
Some people might see this as procrastination. But they would be wrong.
I know it sounds weird, but I swear I’m not making this up. And it’s not just my homework, either.
My cat doesn’t want me to do anything of importance. You see, she’s a rare breed. She can tell the difference between papers with due dates and mindless perusing, between a mandatory laundry day and a load just because I have extra time.
When I’m on Facebook or Pinterest, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t feel the need to jump on my lap and cuddle while I’m scrolling through Instagram. But the second I open my laptop to do anything important, like say, homework, she’s snuggled up to my face, giving me kisses.
Let's say I'm completely out of clean clothes and crunched for time. She's running between my feet, purring so that I don't suspect her of trying to trip me and send me sprawling across the floor with my basket of laundry.
Things are different when I have no intentions to be productive. She may as well not care for me at all. She pretends to ignore me the second I walk through the door, until I’m ready to feed her—after which she continues to pretend I don’t exist until I pick up her laser light.
This is pretty much our daily schedule—unless, of course, I have something important to do. That’s when she wants to be my best friend, purring at my feet and following me around the house.
She’ll lay right across my lap, or on my arms, while I attempt to type the introduction to whatever essay is due the next day. When I finally decide I’ve had enough of trying to type with my large and furry cat weighing down my forearms and I’m about to move her, she readjusts so that she can nuzzle her face right into mine—total evil genius mode.
That’s when the heart-melting happens (cat lovers out there will understand).
So I attribute my general habit of procrastination to her.
It’s not me, by any means.
It’s the cat.
