Cat, interrupted

My cat, Bob, died a few months ago. We were roommates for six years. It's a strange adjustment, not having his furry face interrupt everything I do.

Like eating.

BobCat: "Are you eating? What are you eating? How about if I just give it a sniff?"

Me (scooting breakfast plate out of reach): "Eggs. Go away!"

BobCat: "Oh. Well what if I just wandered to the other side of the table and take a little lick and ... OUCH! DID YOU JUST FLICK MY WIDDLE EAR?"

Me: "Knock it off, cat."

BobCat: "OK. Fine. I'll just sit next to your breakfast. Then drag my tail through it. I'll eye your coffee, too, which you left within reach."

I'm planning her demise. 

I'm planning her demise.