I am now greatful that some 30 plus years ago my step-mother insisted that I learn how to sit on furniture and not just plop into it. She must have known that I would one day become the adoring captive of, Christmas, the dimmest kitten on earth.
Every time I vacate my computer chair, Christmas hops into it. It matters not if I am leaving for the night, a trip to the restroom, or 3.5 seconds (to grab the telephone receiver). I live in fear of running outside (say a quick trip to the mailbox) and someone there saying, “You have a bit of fur stuck to your backside,” — then they peel a flat kitten off my hinny.
Now, on those trips from my chair where I actually take several steps away, Christmas is perfectly safe, because I see her as I am walking back. It is that 3.5 second lift for the phone that’s going to get her killed. More than once as I’ve sat back down, I have squeezed an “eep” from my dim-witted Egyptian Princess. She doesn’t learn.