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By afternoon, the chaos has usually shifted into something more like a truce. My cat has claimed the one sunbeam on the carpet like it was surveyed and legally deeded to her at birth, and I've learned not to argue about it. I'll try to work, and within minutes there's a tail draped over my keyboard, or a very determined little face wedged under my elbow, insisting that my laptop is, in fact, a lap accessory and not a work tool. Somehow I always lose that argument.
Then there's the evening zoomies, the unprovoked sprint from one end of the house to the other, usually around 9 PM, for reasons known only to her. No warning, no explanation, just a blur of fur and a suspicious amount of enthusiasm for a creature who slept eighteen hours that day. And still, when she finally curled up beside me for the night, I wouldn't trade a single ridiculous minute of it.
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