For some unknown reason, the cat has decided the only place to sleep  when I'm at the computer is in the file tray on my desk. She used to sleep on the printer, but I moved it. And then she decided the top of a plastic box holding various paper stock was the perfect place for a nap.

I really can't complain; she only weighs a few pounds and can't hurt the papers she lays on. But Tabby can't simply jump to the floor when she decides it's time to get up. No, she has to leisurely stroll across the desk -- and the keyboard and whatever else seems to be in her way.

My faithful Sheltie Maggie keeps watch outside the office door. Since my office is at the top of the stairs on the second floor, it puts her in an ideal position in case someone -- say a critic of my books -- comes to get me. It also enables her to catch every noise in the neighborhood. She raises an alarm when she hears something suspicious. If I had a dollar for every time I've shouted, "Maggie, it's just the neighbors!" at her, I could afford a wonderful island vacation far away from Kentucky's chill.

I realize I should be grateful for my companions, since otherwise I'd rattle around this house all alone. But between Tabby's snoring and Maggie's barks to be alert, I find myself wondering how I ever thought I'd be lonely when my kids were grown and gone. At least they knew how to amuse themselves with TVs, stereos and video games when I was trying to work!