The Cat Nap as Productivity Tool

Sometimes I consider getting a job. The feeling almost always quickly passes. You see, I’ve had jobs before. In fact, I first started working for money when I was twelve and have been employed practically nonstop ever since. Don’t for a minute think that this implies that I am particularly driven, ambitious or industrious. No. I just like having money better than not having it and, not being a trust fund baby, working has been my only option.

During much of that time I worked for other people. But about fifteen years ago I started my own business. This turned out to be a good idea and I worked hard at it until terminal boredom set in and I had to make the choice between future satisfaction and current income. As it was, I almost stayed too long. I’m lucky to be out alive. You see, I have low “sameness tolerance”. Some readers will know what I mean when I say that I was in danger of stripping naked and running through the super market. Attention shoppers!

Now I’m out and most days I spend more money than I make. But that’s how starting a new business is. I can deal with that bugbear. Still, the job offers (and I get some) are tempting. The problem with them is that all my would-be bosses are crazy and when it comes to “crazy” I have very particular tastes. If I have to work for a lunatic then I like working for the lunatic I know. I like working for me.

It seems that somewhere alone this life’s journey my DNA mutated and certain political genes were lost. It’s cool that there are other people in the world, and under controlled circumstances I can work with them. I just can’t work FOR them. No meetings, no evaluations, no abiding incompetent coworkers, nor listening to corporate drivel for me. Big problems I can deal with. Being gnawed to death by petty rules, politically proper peccadilloes and paperwork are bridges too far for this traveler.

That’s not to say that I report to no one, far from it. I share my work area with the most demanding of office mates, my Siamese cat, Sammy. And he’s over-the-top affectionate. Listen, It’s charming that he just can’t get enough of my attention. It’s flattering that he wants to spend the day in my lap. It’s past adorable that he lives to nudge my face. “But, hey, I’m starving here! I can’t talk on the phone with you all over me. I can’t type. Let me work already!”

Cathartic exclamations of frustration not withstanding, those of you who live with cats will realize the futility of my entreaties.

Cats aren’t people. (Relax, we aren’t here taking a sudden and unwelcome turn into the arcane world of evolutionary genetics (although I’ve been known to do so)). Unwanted people in one’s office are easily dealt with. Screaming at them usually works just fine. On the occasions when you don’t actually want them in your lap (Let’s keep HR out of this, shall we?) the best course is prevention.

Back when I had employees I learned to position my desk so it faced the wall. Looking over one’s shoulder to hold a conversation makes all but the most insensitive visitor uncomfortable and they’ll usually leave your office and go about their business in fairly short order. Keeping stacked books in the guest chair also works well. Better yet, rid your office of the chair altogether. Good tricks all, but they won’t work with cats.

No. Those of us who work from home need a cat-be-gone app. But before you reach for your iPhone, relax. You’ve got one already… in the laundry room.

When Sammy gets too lovey and I’ve really got to work I throw a bath towel into the dryer. In ten minutes it’s toasty warm. I fold it on the bed and install the cat. He sniffs it with what looks to me like surprise, delight and wonderment, circles as cats do, lies down, closes his eyes and goes to wherever sleeping cats go. And I can finally get back to work.

To paraphrase The Beatles, Happiness is a warm cat.