Kitty has a habit of going into cupboards. Any cupboard. If it has a door, it has potential. This is not curiosity so much as a belief system. Behind every closed door there might be meaning. Or at least a quiet place to sit and judge.
The other day she selected the printer cupboard. A bold choice. It contains paper, cables, a machine that screams occasionally, and nothing that could reasonably be mistaken for comfort. I assumed she had gone in there to sleep, or to glare at the Ethernet cable, which she regards as personally suspicious.
Some time later, however, I heard noises.
Not the usual cat noises. No rustling. No offended yowl. Mechanical noises. Whirring. A pause. Another whirr. The sort of sound that suggests a process is underway, whether anyone wants it or not.
This is how modern life works. You are not doing anything, then suddenly something is happening to you. There is no visible output, but the machine is clearly very busy.
I waited. Nothing emerged. No paper. No error message. Just more industrious, inexplicable activity.
At this point it became clear what was going on.
Kitty was not stuck. She was not panicking. She was not trying to escape. She was engaged in an entirely pointless administrative procedure, for reasons known only to herself, involving a large piece of office equipment and no tangible result.
I can only conclude she was photocopying her arse.
This, frankly, explains a great deal about how institutions function.
No comments:
Post a Comment