Mitchell subverting my plan to do my taxes

It’s that time again, tax season. Most of you by now have filed your taxes. I wouldn’t say that I wait until the very last minute, but I usually start the process in February. Ok, the end of February. Ok, so let’s say the beginning of March and be done with it. (Actually, now that I run MeowSpace®, tax returns are due a month earlier than personal returns. Boy, did that throw a wrench into my mental works!).

I start by setting myself up at my computer, with water, coffee and desk space cleaned off. I print out the info I need from my accounting file, open up my tax software and begin the process of filling in the blanks.

Suddenly, I become vaguely aware of Mitchell sitting on my printer staring at me. He doesn’t like it when I am so intensely focussed on anything other than him. It makes it harder for him to get my attention, and when that happens, Mitchell’s not happy. I speak to him without looking up from my computer screen, “I’ll pay attention to you in a little while,” thinking somehow that that will subdue his stare (isn’t cat talk a hoot?). I’m such a fool.

Then I hear a strange crunching sound and realize he is gnawing on the corner of the tax software box. No big deal, really, but it’s the principle here. I’m the boss, the intelligent human! He’s the lowly animal. “Stop that!” I say. He gives me that look; you know, the one that proclaims, “Yeah, right!” Both he and I know that this is just the beginning, and if I’m smart, I’ll give in now and save myself all of the frustration and anxiety that goes along with herding cats.

But once again, my insanity overrules my better judgment and I attempt to go back to work on my taxes. Crunch crunch crunch goes the software box, so I think. When I glance over again, he has moved on to the tissue box. Out come the tissues. Right at about then I hear a strange noise on my left that sounds like, “FIP-FIP-FIP-FIP-FIP-FIP…” in quick succession. Flopsie on the other side of me is literally skating through my now-not-so-neat stack of documents, flinging them hither and thither all over the floor.

Flopsie knows she's won

“WHY? DO YOU DO THIS TO MEEEEEEEE???”

They ignore my outburst and continue. Tissue and papers flying. I rescue my coffee. Mitchell has already drunk from my water glass. I take a sip, stand up and go downstairs to the kitchen. Silence. I go back upstairs. The little angels are sleeping on my bed…for now. I join them.

tax season | cat talk | insanity | herding cats