Can Ediscovery Tools Make You a Better Lawyer?

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The Dark Side of Being a Kitty Mom

How my cats have taught me to surrender, be here now, and love them even more

Tara the Terror. Photo by Author.

Tara needs affection. Thank goodness she sleeps most of the time—16 to 20 hours a day like most cats. I would be at my wits end otherise.

In the morning, she follows me around to see where I land. Once I do, she’s there too, right next to me.

If I’m at my desk clicking on the computer keys, she attempts to stand on the keyboard until she gets my undivided attention.

If I’m sitting for morning meditation, she sits or stands near me and licks or paws my arm until I cave in and give her treasured strokes under the chin.

Cats run on a different clock than humans. They expect you to adapt to theirs.

Tara wakes me in the dark of night for her requisite dose of affection. I’m fast asleep one moment. The next my eyes are open, her face barely an inch from mine.

If I turn on my side, in a hopeless effort to ignore her, she eagerly paws at my back or climbs over me using my hip to get two legs up. Once on the other side, she cuddles up to my belly, her backside frightening close to the edge of the bed, demanding to be pampered.

Sometimes, I just want to scream:

As if I hadn’t had enough, on cue, Chitta, the aloof one, signals at the door. She wants in for a middle of the night snack.

Wearily, I pull myself up to comply. If I don’t, she’ll continue noisemaking until I do. At least, once she’s back out the door, she won’t return till dawn, Her nighttime shenanigans complete, she’ll curl up in the circle part of her cat tree. She’ll be there till high noon at least, barely moving.

But there’s still Tara to contend with in the remaining wee hours of the night. If I give her enough affection, she’ll eventually slither away to the far end of the bed or seek out the cubby in her own cat tree, usually for the rest of the night.

Sometimes, it feels like twenty-four seven with these cats with no possible escape in sight. When resentment arises, and I confess, sometimes it does, I proclaim, “I didn’t sign up for this.” I…

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