Riley Writes

It’s early, I’m checking my mail, producing my first Twitter gems of the day. Riley wants in my lap, but I don’t let her. She lays on the desk, stretching, letting me, no, making me pet her belly, grabbing for my hand with her paws. She watches me type. Her front paws dangle off the desk on to the keyboard. My mail goes haywire: apparently, I’m replying to a message with a long line of “rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”. I have to laugh as I realize what’s going on. And then, what else would a purring cat type…

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