Dear Buddah Pest,
Why, please tell me, are you suddenly opposed to my reading a book? Why is it that I can't curl up in bed with a book at night without you launching onto the bed, pushing it away, and then dropping your 12.5 pounds onto my chest, your face a mere 2.2mm away from mine? Why can I not sit in a recliner in the living room with a book in hand without you tearing across the room to pounce up my lap, where you head butt the book so that I cannot see the page.
You have no problem with me watching TV or sitting here with the laptop open as I blog surf and laugh at the kitties on I Can Has Cheezburger? It doesn't seem to bother you if I st at my desk and work. In fact, you pretty much ignore me unless it's either time for a crunchy treat--and I do admire your ability to know when it's 11:15 p.m.--or until I decide to read something for fun.
You're a cute little chit and I enjoy your episodes of Commando Cuddling, and I comply upon request...but why does this need strike you when I have a book in hand? What do you have against books? It's not like we ever beat you half to death with one.
Please let me finish at least one chapter tonight. I swear, I'll give you all the head and chin skritches you want after that.