My dictionary defines distraction as "...that which divides the attention, or prevents concentration." Today, I'm defining it as three adorable Siamese cats, a gorgeous and unseasonably warm day, and a thirteen-year-old dog who honestly thinks that he is still a puppy (and as a result might give himself--or me--a heart attack).
I say this as I am sitting at my desk trying to write, while our newest Siamese addition, Sake, playfully leaps and throws himself around my office and the hallway. Why? He has a mouse--a pumpkin-orange mouse with a velvet tail and ears. It is, I'm pretty sure, based on his acrobatics, the greatest mouse ever. Much, much better than anything that lives outside and actually has legs. He has tossed it at me four times already. Probably on purpose since I pick it up and throw it for him. How could I resist when he grabs it and brings it back to me? I mean, really, this is too cute to be ignored. If you don't believe me, I can only assume that you have not met Sake. He is pure adorable in a Siamese suit.
It doesn't take long before his antics entice his best buddy, Chai, to join in the mouse fun. This quickly transforms into freestyle wrestling--under and over my feet. Which leads to chasing, which gets even the oldest Siamese involved. I now have what sounds like a herd of elephants racing through the house, slamming into furniture and banging through doorways.
All this chaos wakes up the dog. Given the beautiful day, he decides to pester
the only one with opposable thumbs--convenient for opening a door to the outside world. Never mind that I should be using these thumbs to type.
Sure enough, as soon as dog-face steps outside, he finds his tennis ball, picks it up and turns to me with an expression that pleads. Of course I give in to a few rounds of throw the ball. Here's the problem, though: J.D. (said dog) is a Snoodle-that's a schnauzer crossed with a poodle. There is nothing even close to a retriever in J's biological makeup, which is painfully apparent when someone throws a ball for him. He takes forever to find it. And once he does, he runs laps around the house with it clamped between his teeth. I think this is a Snoodle victory dance.
So, maybe distraction is better defined as that which isirresistible and divides the attention, or prevents concentration. Or, maybe I need to learn to shut my office door when I am writing.