In My Bed

I've been trying this new thing where I don't let the cats on the bed, because: a) they stink, b) they shed, and c) I'm the decider. Besides, the bed is where I spend about 75% of my time when I'm at home, so I figure I deserve at least a small oasis of fur-free privacy.

Spike is somewhat adjusted to this change, though he will occasionally jump up and then run away in fright when he realizes my red-hot laser eyes of death are glaring at him. Cash is a strong believer in social change, like his mother, and thinks that by insisting constantly that I am in the wrong, and demonstrating how much he desires to be on the bed that he will be allowed back in it.

Anyhow, I'm attempting to work from home today, and Cash is doing this thing where he stands on his hind legs, wedging himself between my tiny nightstand and the bed, and grabs at me frantically with his cold little paws, meowing, rolling his eyes, and baring his tiny fangs at me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get anything done with this level of desperation next to me?