Fried, in desperate need of a cat

I just turned in a story to my editor, and am hot in the middle of a bad case of Fried Brain Syndrome. The only cure I've discovered to work is to stroke a cat's fur. Somehow that
tends to calm me down and open my mind. When I'm working towards a deadline, I tend to get a kind of tunnel vision. I eat, sleep, and live my story. That is being a writer. I know it's weird, but I'm weird. I've been weird all my life. But back to Fried Brain Syndrome, or also known as FBS, my friends in Redding have a treatment for it that works. It's a game of how many kittens can we fit on your lap? Kittens are good because they're basic. They aren't intellectual. All they want out of life is food, water, a place to sleep, the occasional dangly toy to bat around the room, and a hand to scritch them, and stroke their fur. Give them attention and they purr. I'm convinced that the sound of a cat's purr will lower a human's blood pressure. That's what I need right now.