While I’m typing, Drusy walks across my keyboard and finds the other side of me is not more to her liking than where she started, so she walks back. That side does not excite her so she walks back, but again she is not satisfied and again steps across the keyboard. And walks back. She flops down lightly with the front half of her six-pound body leaning on my return key. Whatever I was typing has been launched up the page as my cursor plummets to the bottom, but Drusy’s eyes are so green I don’t remember what I was writing anyhow. She rests a hand on my arm so I hang on her every word.