Sitting here gobsmackedly reading a wonderfully useful post about plotting when Mr Padge rushes into the study. His way of saying hello is headbutting your leg, hard.
When that doesn't get my attention, he wraps himself around the wheels of my office chair, waiting for me to move even slightly so that he can shriek indignantly about my running him over (even though I haven't).
When I look down in alarm, startled from my plotting reverie, he looks up and wails piteously (WOWWWW) then headbutts my leg again.
WHAT? I stand up. WHAT? SHOW ME.
He walks ahead of me to the door then hesitates and looks up and WOWWWs again. I am never sure whether he wants water (bathroom) or crunchies (laundry). This is the crossroads, so I ask again. WHAT?
He can't seem to make up his mind, so I start. I move down the corridor. If I'm wrong, and he wants water, he'll trip me up and head back to the bathroom. If I'm right, he'll rush past me so fast that there's a good chance I'll stumble anyway. Dangerous places, hallways.
He rushes past me towards the kitchen, fat glossy black cat with pendulous udder wobbling violently from side to side. He pauses a second while he makes sure I'm following then dashes into the laundry and almost slides to a stop in front of his crunchy bowl.
OH! There's already crunchies there.
SORRY ABOUT THAT. CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH.
Every. frickin. day. I'm. working. at. home. Plot? He's lost it.